


Just a Myth

by The_Winter_Straw



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Lesbian Character, POV Second Person, Pansexual Natasha Romanov, Reader-Insert, lesbian reader, mild sexual references, same-sex relationship, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 30,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: Not all Black Widows kill their mate.In fact, some can be quite romantic.In response to the "A Perfect Love..." challenge by Raicho Kurubi on Lunaescence Archives.





	1. Listen to her secrets.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even remember how old this story is anymore. I started it, deleted it, then re-posted it a year or so later, and finally finished it at the end of 2018. There's really quite an obvious evolution of my writing style if you decided to stay the course. Also, there's some light Steve/Bucky references in it later on (because they're my OTP) but they are so vague as to be non-existent, and I didn't want to clutter up my tags with them getting people's hopes up.
> 
> This won a site featured award in December 2018 on Lunaescence Archives.
> 
> Wow, I'm being careful to go back and edit all these chapters before I post them, but I'm sure not being careful with the author's notes, huh?

Natasha hadn’t realized how much she had been looking forward to her lunch break until she heard a barely perceptible knock on the entrance to her office. The excitement, being somewhat unusual, unnerved Natasha enough that she did not drop her pen until she looked up and saw that it was you. An almost invisible smile worked its way onto her face as you gave a tiny wave and pointed at the brown paper bag clenched in your hand. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Of course.” She cleared away a section of desk as you traipsed over and settled into the chair nearby. Natasha’s eyes narrowed when, in complete silence, you opened your bag, unwrapped a sandwich, and bit into it. Her own lunch–some sushi Clint had picked up earlier–remained untouched as she leaned forward ever so slightly. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Your head snapped up; your eyes widened. Then you swiftly swallowed your food and said: 

“Nothing! Nothing is wrong!” 

“[Name],” said Natasha, and she couldn’t help raising her eyebrows just a little. “It’s my _job_ to read emotions. Don’t make me interrogate it out of you.” 

For a moment, you squirmed under Natasha’s gaze–probably not, she decided, because the offer of interrogation was tempting. Then you set your food down and looked away. 

“You’ll hate me for it,” you said quietly. 

“Not likely,” Natasha said at normal volume. 

She took a bite of sushi while she waited. You tended toward the color of pink when you were with Natasha most of the time. Today, however, you were white. 

Without looking up from your lap, you said, as levelly as you could, “I was just wondering if maybe we could keep it a secret for now.” 

One eyebrow quirked up of its own accord. “Keep what a secret?” 

You looked up and swallowed, hard. “Us.” 

The other eyebrow joined its friend. “Us,” Natasha repeated. “You don’t want anyone to know we’re dating?” She didn’t wait for your answer. “Why?” 

“I don’t want to embarrass you.” 

At that, Natasha frowned. “ _I_ asked _you_ out,” she said. “Why would I be embarrassed? Are _you_ embarrassed of _me_?” 

“No!” Some color flooded back into your cheeks; you waved your hands agitatedly in front of yourself. “It’s just that, I haven’t ever dated a woman before, and I’m not sure how I’m going to explain it yet. Besides, everyone here will know that you could do better.” 

The conversation was not entirely unexpected. If Natasha had known one thing about you before she’d made her move, it was that you were shy. On top of that, you were fairly new to SHIELD and still caught up in concerns over what coworkers thought of you. To add worrying about Natasha to that, however, was just silly. She shrugged. 

“ _I_ don’t think I could. Depends on whose opinion you find more important.” 

“Yours, of course,” you mumbled. 

“Sorry?” 

“Yours,” you said a little louder, and blush flooded your cheeks. Natasha smirked as she combed a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“You work for a spy agency,” she pointed out. “There aren’t many secrets to be had.” 

“But–” 

“However,” she said, then paused until you closed your mouth. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, at least not until you’re ready. But you should know you _don’t_ embarrass me and I’m ready to go public as soon as you are.” 

Your blush flooded a little higher, but you smiled, a big genuine smile that had Natasha smiling right back. Unfortunately, that was just as the lunch bell rang. After starting, just a little, you got to your feet and rushed for the door. Natasha called your name right as you were about to hurry back to your station. 

“We can still do lunch, right?” 

You hesitated at the door. Then: 

“If you want to.” 

Her smile grew a smidge wider. “I want to.”


	2. Listen to her secrets.

Above the sound of Natasha’s heels clicking against the floor, she could hear the quiet rumbling of your voice. It sounded as though you were chattering happily away. A moment later, Clint’s familiar tones joined yours and Natasha smiled as she neared. It was good to know that you had friends, that you were not visible only to her.

Sure enough, when Natasha peeked into the break room, she saw you sitting on the edge of the couch, your hands on your knees and your mouth slightly open. Clint sat in the chair beside yours, hands moving quickly as he told you a story Natasha distinctly recognized as her's from her time in Budapest. No wonder you looked so in awe.

“And then Natasha, she just–”

Before Clint could finish that detail, Natasha cleared her throat. Both you and Clint jumped a bit. Clint recovered first, twisting in his seat to grin at her.

“Hey, Tasha,” he said in greeting. “Done with your paperwork already?”

“I am,” she answered as she walked deeper into the room. Instead of looking at Clint, however, Natasha’s eyes remained glued to your shy, tiny smile. “Ready to go to dinner?”

Color shot across your face like a firework. You shifted uncomfortably as you tried to regain control of yourself. “D-Dinner?” you stammered, then looked down at your clothing. “I’m not really dressed for it.”

Natasha smiled herself. “You look fine.” She stuck her hand out toward you and wiggled her fingers. The smile on her face grew as you looked away, only for a moment, before taking her hand and allowing Natasha to pull you from your seat.

Clint sat up straighter as the two of you turned. “Dinner!” he said, and his grin was clearly trouble. “Can I come?”

Natasha’s eyes flicked once across Clint’s face. “No.”

“Oo.” Her dismissal clearly bothered Clint not at all. She felt your fingers tremble ever so slightly in her grip as your hand grew warm. “Is it a date?”

If anything was going to derail Natasha’s single-minded determination at that point, it was Clint figuring it out. “I…” Natasha’s eyes drifted to look at you. Your cheeks burned; you looked away to explain:

“It’s okay. I told him.”

“You told–” Natasha broke away to give Clint a look of pure confusion. He lifted his eyebrows a few times before settling more comfortably into his chair. “I thought you didn’t want anyone to know.”

“I thought I should at least tell Clint,” you murmured. Though you kept your gaze carefully away from Natasha’s face, you also crept closer to her side. “He was going to figure it out pretty quickly, since he’s your best friend and all.”

“And?” Natasha whipped her head around to glower ever so slightly at Clint. His grin was just a little too wide for her comfort. Luckily for him, her hands were otherwise preoccupied, or else he might have found himself with a few more broken teeth.

“And nothing.” Clint got to his feet with a shrug. “I think it’s cute, Miss ‘Love-is-for-Children.’”

“It is not–” For once, Natasha could feel herself blushing. “It is not _cute_.”

“Oh, it’s cute. And you’re taking her to dinner? [Name] has finally cracked through that rock you called a heart.”

“Do you want me to hit you? Because it kind of sounds like you do.”

“Natasha.” She blinked, broke eye contact, and looked around until she found you still by her side. “Natasha, if you want to get dinner somewhere that isn’t the cafeteria, we should probably go.”

“Can I break Barton’s nose before we go? It’ll only take a few seconds.”

You shook your head and tugged on her arm. “Break Clint’s face later. I’m hungry.”

Natasha took a deep breath, only to release it a moment later. She began to lead you out of the room, but did not leave before turning to look at Clint one last time.

“You tell anyone else, Barton, and I’ll break more than your face.”

Clint only laughed. Natasha rolled her eyes and allowed you to pull her into the hallway. As the two of you left, however, she could distinctly hear Clint calling after her:

“[Name] and Natasha, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

It was only by reminding herself that you were hungry that Natasha was able to walk out of the building without returning to the break room to beat him to a pulp.


	3. Call her first.

The thing that struck Natasha the most when she stepped back into the air-conditioned hallways of SHIELD Headquarters was that absolutely nothing had changed. Suited field agents passed by with sympathetic nods at her broken arm. An alarm blared somewhere off in the distance. Whatever was being cooked in the kitchen, though most likely hardly edible, still made Natasha’s stomach grumble. 

Yes, everything was the same. Everything but your desk, which proved vacant when Natasha dropped by. Gone for the day, it looked like. At least you hadn’t ditched SHIELD entirely, as evidenced by the many pictures of your dog and your parents that littered the desk’s surface. Natasha sighed. Ahead of her lay hours and hours of debriefing and medical examinations. It would probably be at least a day before she could see you again. 

“Romanoff,” Maria called from the entrance to another hallway. “Fury wants you in his office for debriefing.” 

As usual, Maria didn’t wait to make sure that Natasha had heard. She simply turned and started to walk back up the way she had come. Natasha knew better than to not listen when the higher-ups gave a command–even though she had, in all honesty, been on her way to visit Director Fury anyway–but still she paused. You couldn’t be on break, since your bag was gone. The temptation to wait for you to come back remained. 

With a grunt of annoyance directed toward herself, Natasha hurried after Maria. Her arm throbbed in its makeshift sling. At least now that she was back, Natasha could get the bone properly set. She could only dread your reaction to her broken arm, in addition to all the cuts and bruises coloring her skin. You understood the danger involved in Natasha’s line of work, but she knew that didn’t prevent you from worrying. She still remembered your face when she’d stopped by your desk to say goodbye. 

“Romanoff is here, sir.” 

Natasha was brought quite suddenly back to reality upon Maria announcing her arrival. Director Fury’s face was framed in the entrance to his office as he leaned back in his chair to look outside. Upon seeing Natasha, he got to his feet. 

“Nice to see you again, Agent Romanoff,” he said as he came to door. “I heard you broke a couple of necks this time around.” 

Her smirk was answer enough, but Natasha felt obligated to explain anyway: “In my defense, they did break my arm first.” 

Director Fury regarded her calmly with that single eye of his. Natasha’s smile only grew a little wider. She might bend a couple of rules now and then, but no one could call her a rogue, and that was enough to get her out of most snafus. With a final, sharp sigh, Director Fury rolled his eye. 

“At least the damage wasn’t worse. _Someone_ has been quite worried about you while you’re gone. I’d hate to see their worry done justice.” 

“Someone, sir?” Natasha asked carefully. Director Fury rolled his eye a second time. 

“I think Agent [L Name] would be upset if you had returned missing a limb. Step inside my office so we can get this debriefing over with and you can get that arm looked at.” 

She nodded once, glad (though not relieved) to find her immunity to rules extended to her dating a fellow employee. Natasha had only taken a single step into the office, however, when she paused. 

“Is there a problem, Agent Romanoff?” 

“Can we put this on hold for five minutes?” she asked. “I need to make a phone call.” 

Director Fury looked as though he would have preferred to say no. Maybe he was exhausted, too, because after a moment, he simply waved his hand toward the door. 

“Be quick, Romanoff. I want to get home before midnight for once.” 

“Will do, sir.” 

Her finger hit your speed dial before she fully cleared the door.


	4. Mark her as yours.

It was nice, Natasha thought, having someone to spend time with after a long day at work. Not that she didn’t still like to have her house empty _most_ of the time, but company on occasion was a welcome distraction. She liked the low lighting of the single lamp on the bedside table, liked the feeling of your weight in the bed next to her, liked the sensation of drawing slow circles on your skin with the tips of her fingers. 

It never lasted long enough. Considering how infrequently Natasha asked people to visit, she wouldn’t have minded if you stuck around. But each time, the moment came when you stretched, shifted onto your side, and murmured: 

“What time is it?” 

Natasha hated to answer this question, because the time of the evening didn’t matter. Still, she made sure to keep all traces of pending-frustration from her voice as she stated, “Nearly eleven.” 

Normally, you sat up straight and threw yourself out of the bed. That time, however, you remained too sleepy to think of extreme movements. Instead, you just sat up and blinked blearily around the room. “That late?” you said. “I should get going. Trevor is probably starving.” 

With her fingers now unoccupied, Natasha used one hand to prop her head up. “Can’t your dog wait until morning to eat?” 

“I couldn’t let him go hungry.” Your voice still held a raspy edge to it. Noticing this made Natasha smirk. “What kind of mother would I be?” 

“He’s a _dog_ ,” Natasha answered without much heat. She knew how much you doted on Trevor. With your parents living so far away, he was really the only family you had around. As you stretched another time, Natasha’s gaze fell upon the very distinct bruise on your neck. A quiet chuckle curled up from her throat. 

That caught your attention. Blinking, you looked over at Natasha, who could see the beginnings of a blush already present on your features. “What?” you asked. “What is it?” 

She simply shook her head. “Your neck.” 

Natasha didn’t have to elaborate. Your hand reached up and began pressing gently against your skin, working around until you found what Natasha was speaking of. You winced slightly at the sensation and drew your fingers away. Natasha smiled. 

“That’s another week of turtlenecks.” 

“Mm.” For a moment, Natasha thought she had upset you. You slid out of the bed and walked over to the chair, where your clothes sat neatly folded and waiting for you. Then, you spoke: “Maybe not. A couple of guys have been making advances. This might help put them off.” 

At that, Natasha sat up completely–though perhaps admittedly more so that she could better see your bare back than so that she could hear you more clearly. 

“Have they?” she asked. One of your shoulders lifted and fell in answer. “If you’d rather not stoop to using hickies as man-deterrent, I could just kill them for you.” 

“No,” you said quickly, then laughed. You were getting used to Natasha’s jokingly violent tendencies. The first two times she had suggested such a thing, you’d turned chalk-white and nearly sprinted out the building to get away from her. “I need to fight my own battles sometimes.” 

“Well, if you’re sure.” You pulled your shirt over your head; Natasha settled back down into the sheets again as you turned back toward her. 

“I’m sure. Thanks for the offer though. And…” You paused and your ears turned very slightly pink. “Thanks for tonight.” 

“You’re welcome,” Natasha answered with another smile. “We should do it again sometime. Or you could just forget the dog and stay the night.” 

Your blush grew, but you shook your head. “I really can’t. I’ll see you at work on Monday, though.” 

You didn’t walk over to give her a goodbye kiss. Your fingers wrapped around the doorknob, and you pulled the door open. The hallway outside looked cold and dark when compared to the warmth of the bedroom. 

“I could stop you,” Natasha called before you stepped out. 

You turned your head and flashed her a smile. “Tell you what: you let me go now, you can stay the night next time you visit.” 

As she sunk back onto her pillow, Natasha’s fingers found the switch on the lamp. Just before you left and before she plunged the bedroom into darkness, Natasha grinned. 

“It’s a date.”


	5. Understand her feelings.

Date night didn’t come often enough, or it came too frequently. Natasha could feel either way at any time, or both at once. It was difficult to overcome years of standoffishness for the sake of one person, but she liked you enough to try. Thankfully, you seemed to understand, and planned dates that wouldn’t sap too much of Natasha’s strength. 

One night, after a particularly strong storm, the two of you went for a walk. The lateness of the hour combined with the weather made the streets mostly empty. The orange glow of street lights reflected off the damp, brown pavement, and cars hissed past to spray arcs of muddy water into the air. Natasha strolled past the buildings silently, listening to the sound of her heels echoing against the bricks. 

“It’s pretty,” she remarked upon finding herself standing alone underneath a light by a corner. You remained walking slowly toward her through the dark with your hands in your pockets. Your reflection ghosted across a store window before you made it to her side. “So?” 

“So…what?” you asked blankly. Natasha smiled ever so slightly as she looped her arm through yours and continued on her way. 

“Do I get to stay the night tonight?” 

You met this question with silence. Natasha counted her footsteps: one, two, three, four. Then she looked at your face. Even in the semi-darkness, she could see pink creeping up your neck. Your gaze remained firmly fixed on the traffic lights further down the road. 

“We did have a deal,” she reminded you gently. 

“No, I–I know,” you said with a swift shake of your head. “I just want to tell you something first and I’m afraid you won’t want to stay the night after I tell you.” 

She stopped, and you stopped with her. If asked, Natasha would not have been able to express what she was feeling. It wasn't fear, exactly, or nerves. Maybe it was just trepidation. No one had ever seemed remotely interested in breaking up with her before. You took a deep breath to fill your lungs, then exhaled and looked away from her once more. Your toes scuffed a line through the thin layer of mud on the sidewalk. 

“I know you don’t really like people, Natasha. And that feelings aren’t really your strong suit.” 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Go on.” 

The tone of her voice made you start and your blush return. “But, um, I just–” You paused to screw your eyes up for a moment, to get your mind back on track. “I’ve really enjoyed going out with you and I really, _really_ like you, and I thought maybe it might make you uncomfortable, but…I love you.” 

Your eyes snapped up to meet Natasha’s as you finished your sentence. For a moment, Natasha could only blink back. Her mind seemed to have filled with static. Before her, you ducked your head and looked away. 

“I know that you probably think that’s silly, though. Just–Just pretend I didn’t say that, all right? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” 

Natasha didn’t answer–not with words, at any rate. Instead, she grabbed your chin, pulled it upward as lightly as she could, and pressed her lips against yours. She felt your sigh of relief as her teeth bit softly into your lower lip, and then she pulled away. Your face shone like a beacon, but it was clear that, beneath your embarrassment, you were beaming. 

“Come on,” Natasha said as she took your hand and began to steer you back toward your apartment. “It’s getting late and we both have work in the morning.”


	6. Tell her she's gorgeous.

Waiting had never been Natasha’s strong suit. Of course, she _could_ be patient, if a situation called for it. She wasn't called the Black Widow for nothing. Spiders often needed to sit around for extended periods of time waiting for their prey. But when Natasha wasn’t hunting she preferred things to happen quickly.

The quiet ticking of the expensive watch on her wrist only served to remind her just how long it was taking for you to show up. From the ballroom nearby, she could hear laughter and glasses tinkling and the occasional gentle swell of orchestral music. The gala she had been instructed to crash was already in full swing. Still you had not yet made your appearance.

Apparently Clint had noticed the delay as well, because a moment later he wandered out of the hallway and straight toward her.

“If you’re worried about looking silly in there,” he announced without question when he was within hearing range, “I’d be glad to dance with you.”

Natasha only gave him a once-over before she straightened her shawl and went back to watching the nearby entrance. “Not tonight, Barton. I’ve got a date.”

A quick glance at Clint showed his face had fallen into confusion, but only for a moment. “You invited your _girlfriend_?”

“Why?” Natasha asked as she turned toward him. “Is that a problem?”

“She’s a _desk agent_ ,” Clint protested.

“So?” 

“What’s she supposed to do if things turn sour?” 

“Do you think I can’t take care of [Name]?” Her eyebrows lifted casually, but it was enough to make Clint think again before speaking. He shifted from foot to foot, looking his usual uncomfortable self in the tuxedo he wore. Without his quiver, he looked even stranger. Good thing Natasha knew it was stashed somewhere he could quickly retrieve it. 

“Well–No. But what if something _does_ happen?” 

“What’s going to happen?” Natasha asked. “We’ve got the best eyes in SHIELD looking out for us, and if anyone tries to hurt her, I’ll snap their neck.” 

He threw her the aggrieved look he saved from whenever Natasha suggested deviating from stated orders. “You’re supposed to capture, Tasha, not kill,” he said flatly. 

“I know how to do my job, Barton.” 

The argument might have continued from there–Natasha knew as well as Clint did that inviting you along wasn’t exactly within the grounds of company policy, but she hadn’t seen you in nearly a month and was assigned to go out to Qatar the next morning. Then a distraction arrived in the form of the door opening. Automatically, Clint and Natasha shifted so that they looked in the midst of not-so-polite flirtation. Fortunately, the front was unneeded, since Natasha recognized your figure as you drew close. 

“Am I interrupting something?” you asked. Natasha’s lips twisted upward in response. 

“Nothing at all.” She stepped forward to take your hand. “You look gorgeous.” 

“It’s–It’s nothing,” you said, turning a bright pink. “I’m not too overdressed am I?” 

“You’re perfect.” As Natasha turned back to Clint, she smiled. “You get the perimeter. [Name] and I have got inside.” 

Clint rolled his eyes, but withdrew his bow and arrows from the closest alcove. “Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled as he headed for the stairs. “You two have fun.” 


	7. Write her a song.

“I didn’t know you play the violin.”

If anyone else’s voice had broken into her concentration when she was at home, Natasha wouldn’t have hesitated to snap their neck. As it was, she still froze as she looked up at you as a dozen ways to kill you rushed through her head. You seemed to understand her reaction, since you did not move from your place by the door.

After a few minutes, Natasha’s instincts settled down. You were _supposed_ to be there. Natasha _wanted_ you there…most of the time. The subject of you moving in kept cropping up, only to be quickly dropped again, both Natasha’s doing. Thankfully you seemed content to hover between her home and yours while she made up her mind. At least Natasha had had the decency to get you a toothbrush for her place, and even a food bowl for your dog.

Remembering this forced the ends of Natasha’s lips up. You relaxed visibly as she set her bow onto the lip of the stand in front of her.

“I don’t,” Natasha answered at last. “Or, I didn’t.”

You didn’t say anything, but your silence was indicative enough of desiring further explanation. Natasha rolled her eyes, then bent to gather up her case.

“My next job has me posing as a member of a philharmonic,” she explained. “I thought it prudent to practice. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

At the reminder that you had been taking a nap, you yawned and collapsed into the opposite chair. “How long ago did you get the assignment?”

“Two weeks ago.”

You sat up so suddenly that Natasha was almost alarmed. Spluttering, it took you nearly thirty seconds to overcome your shock enough to spit out, “And you’re already that good?”

“I had some practice before.”

“From where?”

One of her shoulders lifted, but Natasha didn’t answer. Her work prior to Clint wasn’t something Natasha was quite ready to get into with you. She assumed you could guess at some of it, what with the rumors at SHIELD (most of which were true), but still. As much as Natasha liked you, she wasn’t quite sure yet if she was going to keep you around that long, or if you’d stay if you knew the details for certain.

But the smirk had already returned to Natasha’s face. A smile was best for deflecting questionable curiosity, so, ignoring the empty case she’d tugged up to set on a nearby cushion, her fingers took up her bow again. “If you think I’m that good, I’ll play a song, just for you.”

She didn’t wait for consent; Natasha simply picked up her violin and began to play. For several long minutes, the only sound in the apartment was that of Natasha’s music. You sat in rapt attention, wide eyed, until the last note quavered to a halt. You allowed the quiet for a while after and just stared. When you spoke, your voice was husky:

“Did you write that?”

“No.” She shook her head with a laugh. For some reason, you looked a little relieved. “Violin Concerto in D major, Op. 35,” Natasha said as she snapped the case shut. “By Tchaikovsky. There’s no way I could write something like that.”

You chuckled. “At least there’s _something_ you’re not perfect at.”

Natasha felt herself smile at your words. “Yet,” she pointed out. You laughed again and shook your head, and when she peeked at you, you were smiling, too.

“Yet,” you agreed.


	8. Treat her like a human being.

Natasha would have given just about anything to not have had you see her like that. She knew who tipped you off, of course; Clint was the only person that would break protocol like that. But she couldn’t find it in herself to appreciate the thought when you were looking at her as though your world was falling apart.

“I’ve had worse. _Much_ worse,” was her constant refrain, but to no avail. You just turned paler and asked again if there was anything you could do. The answer was no. Natasha was in the hospital and off solids. This was a situation you could do absolutely nothing about.

“She’s not really cut out for this, is she?” Maria asked during the on-location debriefing. The look she sent your sleeping figure slumped over in the same uncomfortable plastic chair you’d been sitting in for the past three days told Natasha plainly just what SHIELD’s second in command thought of you. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could say to that, so Natasha only forced a smile. “She’s not even supposed to be here. This is a regulated facility. How did she get in?”

When Maria’s eyes found Natasha’s, Natasha kept her face carefully blank. She was used to Maria’s hard stares, and a minute later, Maria’s gaze broke away as she sighed.

“I’ll talk to Barton later, and [Name].” Her footsteps sounded as she walked toward the door. Just before she slipped out, Maria looked back at Natasha. “You’re expected to be released sometime near the end of the month.”

“Right,” said Natasha with a nod.

The click of the door closing had you opening your eyes. Natasha remained silent as you looked around the room. Upon finding it empty, you allowed your eyes to fall upon her. As usual, Natasha saw you wince at her injuries. Still you tried your best to sound casual as you asked:

“Debriefing over?”

“Like you weren’t pretending to be asleep the entire time.”

Her typical sarcasm unfortunately did not set you more at ease. You just flushed as you dragged your chair closer to the side of her bed. Natasha saw your fingers twitch, as though you wanted to hold her hand even with the heavy bandaging around it, but you managed to cover that motion up as well as anyone could ask you to.

“I was asleep,” you said. “For…most of it.”

When you didn’t elaborate, Natasha found your face again. Your eyes were glued to the opposite end of the bed, where the lumps of Natasha's feet strained against the thin bed sheets.

“You heard what Maria said.”

For a moment, you didn’t speak. Then you nodded. Tears sprung to your eyes; you hastily wiped them away. After a few deep breaths you said, “She’s right. I’m not cut out for this. I thought I could handle it but seeing you like this I–”

“ _You’re_ allowed to have emotions,” Natasha interrupted. She felt it best to nip your tirade in the bud before you really started in on it. She didn’t want you to leave SHIELD, or even think about doing so for very long. “No one has trained _you_ to be a robot yet.”

For a moment, she thought the obvious bitter note in her voice might drive you off. Instead, she saw your fingers curl again, and then you placed your palm onto the only part of her skin that showed. “You’re not a robot either, Nat.”

You couldn’t know what those words did to Natasha–because you didn’t _know_. You didn’t know what she was before Clint showed up and you didn’t know what she was at that moment, at least not really. And what was worse, Natasha couldn’t tell you. She wasn’t ready to. She just had to let you believe.

Whatever you took her silence for, it was positive. You slid your hand off of Natasha before gently adjusting her sheets. She could feel her mind starting to drift back toward sleep. Try as she might to avoid it, since you’d probably worry about her sleeping so much, she couldn’t fight the exhaustion off. Right before she drifted away, you spoke again:

“I’ll be here, you know. Until you don’t want me anymore.”

“Right,” Natasha murmured as she allowed her world to fade to black.


	9. Ask her to dance.

“You’re being really stupid about this. You know that, right?”

For what was probably the twentieth time that evening, Natasha leveled a stony glare at Clint. His tone had remained conversational; it was the repeated statement that annoyed her–and Natasha was already _very_ annoyed.

The annual organization ball was never something Natasha looked forward to. Normally, she got through it with nothing but alcohol and Clint’s snarky comments for company. But that night? Natasha was practically _itching_ to get back to her home, to get out of her formal dress, and to get as far away from you as possible.

Stationed at a table in the back, far from the dance floor and the punch table, she could still very clearly see where you sat much closer to the front. A collection of male agents had crowded around you, and, judging by the nudges you received, were trying to entice you to dance.

“Eventually she’s going to say yes,” Clint pointed out.

In response, Natasha stubbornly turned her back to you. He rolled his eyes and pushed away his cup. She bunched her shoulders up and tried not to look at him. Even without the constant reminding, Natasha knew she had made a mistake–but what else was she supposed to have done?

“Tasha–”

“Shut it, Clint.”

“You don’t want her dancing with any of those yahoos, do you?” She did not answer. “So go ask [Name] to dance.”

“It’s not that simple,” Natasha answered.

“Did you break up with her?”

“No.”

“Then what are you–”

“We’re taking a break.”

For a long moment, Clint was silent. When Natasha chanced a look at his face, he was gazing in your direction. Then he chuckled humorlessly before turning back to her.

“Did you tell _her_ that?”

Natasha’s lack of reply was answer enough. As much as she didn’t want a lecture from Clint, she wasn’t sure how to avoid his finding out that she had not spoken to you since she'd been released from the hospital. Surprisingly, no lecture was forthcoming. He simply sat forward to look at her more closely.

“Tasha,” he said seriously. “What’s going on?”

Natasha got abruptly to her feet. She did not want to explain herself to Clint, and sitting there was driving her crazy. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Without so much as a glance towards the several people that would have accepted a dance from her, Natasha marched through the throng until she arrived right in front of you.

“Oh,” you said upon spotting her. Your fingers lifted to twiddle with your hair. Judging by your expression, you had definitely noticed her cold behavior toward you in the past few weeks. Natasha did not wait for you to press her for answers before she thrust her hand at you.

“Do you want to dance?”

A part of Natasha hoped that you would simply shift uncomfortably in your seat, look around yourself, and refuse. At least in that case, Natasha would have a reason to be upset, a reason to call things off before she went any deeper. Instead, you latched onto her hand like a drowning person looking for a lifeline.

“Yes.”

As your hand wrapped snugly around Natasha’s, she blinked at you. Her heart gave a strange flutter, causing another flare of annoyance to course through her veins. Having come that far she couldn’t drop you and walk back to Clint. After a moment of trying very hard to summon the correct facial expression, Natasha managed to hitch a smile to her face.

“Then let’s dance.”

She led you to the dance floor, where you spun about so that you were leaning into Natasha’s chest. Even from that distance, she could see Clint smirking at her. She shut her eyes so that she didn’t have to look at it any longer. Soon, she was entirely absorbed by the music and the feeling of your head on her shoulder.

Things weren’t perfect. But for the moment, Natasha could delude herself that they could get there.


	10. Never imagine life without her.

Avoiding you turned out to be much more difficult than Natasha imagined. One week after that dance, and she was dreaming things you wouldn’t have approved of even if things had been good between you. Two weeks out, and those dreams started to bleed into her waking hours. Three weeks, and she had to dig her heels into the carpet to prevent herself from going to visit you at work.

Far from pushing Natasha in the right direction, however, her reaction only served to irritate her more. Her attitude was not helped by Clint hanging around, constantly reminding her of what a bad choice she was making and trying to get her to talk to you. It took quite a bit of thought to keep her from driving a knife into his hand to pin him to a desk just so that she could finish her work in peace. If she was not invested at all in his relationship (or lack thereof) with Bobbi, why did he have to pester her so much at her own relationship or lack thereof? It wasn’t any of his business.

Needless to say, things didn’t get better. She ate lunch alone in her office. If she had to pass by your desk, she did so without looking in your direction. All the while, Clint kept sighing:

“Why don’t you just break up with her so she can be happy with someone else?”

That was certainly an option–if Natasha _wanted_ you to be happy with someone else. She did not. Natasha wanted you to be happy with _her_. But every single time you smiled at her, she felt her heart sink. How could you be happy with someone you couldn’t ever fully know?

Falling in love with you in return hadn’t been part of the original plan. Neither had been worrying about you, or missing how your weight felt beside her in the bed, or feeling weird about her empty apartment, or–

“No, I don’t want–”

Natasha’s eyes snapped away from her picked-at sandwich just in time to see Clint darting away from the doorway and you stumbling inside. You straightened with a quick look behind yourself only to spot that he was no longer there yourself. Then, noticing the stillness in the office, you stiffened and turned slowly to see her sitting coolly at her desk.

“H-Hi,” you stammered. Natasha simply lifted a single eyebrow in response as she crossed her arms. Oddly, you frowned at that and crossed your arms as well. “Am I not allowed to come visit you anymore?”

“What do you want?” Her voice sounded flat even to her own ears. To avoid having to look at you–because she hadn’t been that close to your lips in such a long time that simply looking had become dangerous–she began to shuffle through her remaining report papers. Without waiting for an invitation, you threw yourself into the chair beside her desk.

“To talk.”

“I don’t know what Barton told you before he shoved you in here–”

“I can notice that you’re not talking to me on my own, Nat. Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Natasha had never heard you angry before. Sad, nervous, happy, worried, yes. But angry? No. And certainly not at her. She stopped moving without consciously making the decision to do so. “If you want to break up with me, just go ahead and do it.”

She pursed her lips together and did not answer. Realizing that she probably looked very stupid with her hands around her paperwork like that, she started to rearrange it. Maybe if you thought Natasha was busy you’d just leave.

“When I first started here,” your voice, suddenly small, still held a hard edge to it, “everyone told me to avoid the field agents. ‘Especially Romanoff,’ they told me. ‘Keeps to herself, only talks to Barton. They’re probably banging.’”

Natasha blinked. People thought she and Clint were sleeping together? _Regularly_? Before she could give much thought to that predicament, you continued:

“‘If you bother her, prepare for a tongue-lashing. Not warm and fuzzy, Agent Romanoff. But she gets the job done.’”

It didn’t _quite_ sound as though you were about to cry. Natasha chanced looking at you out of the corner of one eye. You were staring at your lap; your hands were on your knees.

“But I kept seeing her, this beautiful woman, and I thought she was looking at me, but why would she? I’m nothing special. And suddenly she’s asking me to dinner and to have lunch with her and to stay the night and even to move in. But,” you took a deep, shaky breath and looked up; caught off guard, Natasha did not have the time to look away before your eyes met, “if you don’t like me anymore–”

“I still–like you,” Natasha broke in. God. Only you could make her trip over her own words. Years of training didn’t seem to do a damn thing when it came to you. “But you don’t know me.”

“Then change that,” you murmured, suddenly very close and very obviously staring at her lips. She blinked again. Natasha was not used to you taking the initiative. As if reading her mind, you licked your own, and then looked straight into her eyes. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m willing to be completely open with our relationship from here on out.” Your lips drew closer. “But if you’re going to keep avoiding me,” you suddenly stood and walked to the door before turning back, “we’re done. Your choice.”

And you left as swiftly as you had come, leaving Natasha feeling, if possible, even more confused than she had before.


	11. Kiss her in the rain.

Natasha tried not to think about the quarrel in her office. She really did. All afternoon, she was at the center of a storm of productivity. The agent that normally came in, quickly wrapped up her desk work, and stepped out again stayed late that day to make copies, punch holes in reports, brew fresh coffee, and sharpen the communal pencils. Several people (mostly Clint) stopped by to remark upon this suspicious change in behavior, but Natasha ignored them all. She was too busy focusing on one thought: She was the master of her emotions.

But she knew that when she went home, those same emotions would set upon her again. They were worse than torture: jealousy gnawed at her stomach worse than knives, anxiety battered at her head worse than waterboarding, and frustration made her dizzier than starvation. At home, there would be no busy work to distract her. Natasha might have stayed even later than she had, had she not heard a much more demanding rap on the wall outside her door.

“You’re the last person in the building, Romanoff,” said Maria when their eyes met. “Unless you want to stay and help the night janitors, you need to clear out.”

Natasha bit her lip.

“You can’t stay and help the night janitors,” Maria said flatly, and then she disappeared. It was with a heavy heart that Natasha packed up her things and exited the building. The lights flicked off, one by one, as she passed, save for one at the far end of a hallway where the night janitor must have started their work without her.

If she chose to stay, no one would find out. That Natasha was sure of it. She didn’t become the Black Widow by being picked up by things as simple as _security cameras_ , and she knew that she could handle any other security program that came her way. What she couldn’t handle was the thought of another lecture coming after so many from Clint and a doozy of one from you. She sighed, pushed open the front door, and found herself two inches away from a solid sheet of rain. Frowning, she stuck one hand out into it, hoping, perhaps, to check if it was real.

It was. She had simply been too preoccupied to notice the roar outside. Natasha let out a snort, stuffed her cold, wet hands into her armpits, and suddenly spotted a familiar figure carrying an umbrella and hurrying toward the distant sidewalk. And Natasha, trained assassin that she was, froze.

If you’d been with her that morning, you would have reminded Natasha to take an umbrella. You probably would have let her hold one over both of you on the walk into the Triskelion. But you hadn’t, and you couldn’t, and Natasha–though always planning ahead for assignments–often forgot subtle nuances such as checking the weather when doing mundane activities like as office work. So there she stood, watching you vanish into the hazy streetlights beyond.

_‘Watching?’_ Natasha thought. Was the Black Widow really content to watch her girlfriend fade from her life without doing anything at all? If she could get you back, then she was going to get you back, explaining her former life be damned. She wanted you, and so long as you were in agreement, she was going to _get_ you. And one thing was for certain: She wouldn’t melt in water.

Without so much as bothering to lift an arm to shield her face from the torrent, Natasha sprinted from the safety of the entrance and toward the gate through which you’d left. This rain was nothing like the kind from the night you’d first told her you loved her; it was far too late in the year for that. This rain was cold and hard, but Natasha ignored it all, even the water underneath her heels. If she could run in them, she could maneuver a wet sidewalk in them, and this time her mission was important.

“[Name]!” she shouted when she thought that she had caught up to you. But you didn’t turn. Maybe the storm was too loud; maybe you didn’t care to see her face. She tried again: “[Name]!”

“Huh?” Natasha was close enough to hear that, and close enough to see you turn around, but she kept going until she came to a sodden stop in front of you. “Natasha? What are you–”

“Did you mean it?” she asked you. Your features crinkled.

“What?”

“Did you mean it? In the hospital, when you said you’d stick around until I didn’t want you anymore?”

For a long while–too long–you stared up at her. Your umbrella had fallen onto your shoulder in your surprise at finding her behind you, and now you were nearly as soaked as she was. Then she heard you take a very extended breath. “Yes. But you don’t want me around anymore so–”

She’d took your chin before you’d got out that much, then buried the rest of your statement in a kiss so hard that she thought she might have seen those fireworks Clint was always talking about. She tasted rain and chapstick and maybe something a little like home, though Natasha, having never had a real home herself, couldn’t say for sure what that would taste like. When she broke away, you didn’t step backwards, only stood silently before her.

“I can’t tell you what I’ve done,” Natasha said after giving you enough time to catch your breath. “I can’t tell you where I’ve been, or who I was. I’m not ready to. Maybe I won’t ever be. But,” she took your hand, and you let her, “if you’re willing to take who and what I am now, then I’ll be here…until _you_ don’t want _me_ anymore.”

Your eyes narrowed very slightly. Anyone else probably would not have noticed. Natasha braced herself for another tirade, but instead, you just wrapped your fingers around hers and gave her arm a gentle tug as you drew the now-useless umbrella over both your heads. “Good enough for me.”

Caught off guard, Natasha found herself staring at you. When she did, she laughed and kissed you on the cheek. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

You shook your head. “My place. Trevor’s still over there since…” Since Natasha had sort of, without saying anything, banned you from her place. Fortunately, you decided not to bring that up. You simply smiled and started to lead her away. “I’ll cook you dinner, though.”

Natasha made a mental note to bring Clint a coffee to work the next day–just as a way to say thank you. It would be better that way. She would hate to have to say it with words.


	12. Hold her hand at any time.

One of the things that Natasha admired most about you was your work ethic. Obviously she did a good enough job to earn her keep at SHIELD, but there were plenty of times when she simply couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to go the extra mile on assignments. No one could say the same for you. Maybe it was due to the circumstances of your hiring, but you always went at your tasks one-hundred percent.

Yes, Natasha admired how hard you worked–but that didn’t mean she always appreciated it. You were maddeningly difficult to wrangle for dates and the like, especially with your full-time schedule and her odd one. She’d finished her paperwork around two o’ clock that afternoon when you still had three hours to go before you could clock out. Natasha, having no need to distract herself by keeping busy, decided against doing extra office work in favor of hanging out with you.

Had Maria been there, this would never have been allowed. Maybe that was why you allowed it. Every so often Natasha would glance up to see you smiling shyly at her. Mostly she sat cross-legged in the corner of your cubicle, absently reading one of the books you had stashed in your desk. This was not exactly enthralling for a woman used to action while she was on company time. When four o’ clock arrived, even she was having trouble containing her impatience. At last she stood, then wandered over to your desk to place your book on top of it.

“Almost done?” asked Natasha. The ends of your lips twitched upward; rather than be annoyed by her pestering, you understood where it came from. As you shook your head, you tucked a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll probably be here at least until five. Maybe later,” you answered. “You could just go home without me.”

“I _could_ ,” she admitted, “if I wanted to make sure you weren’t coming home with me.”

Your shoulders tightened, making it plain to Natasha that your plans had in fact involved going home and sleeping in your own bed. She didn’t let it bother her; after all, it was _her_ fault that you still weren’t officially moved into her place. Still she frowned. If she had waited around all day for nothing, she was bound to stew about it for longer than she’d like.

“I’d have to go pick Trevor up anyway,” you mumbled into the stack of papers in front of you. Natasha heard anyway.

“I told you I’d come with you to pick him up.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s not an inconvenience. It’s–”

Natasha broke off mid-sentence at a smart rap at the entrance to your cubicle. A young man stood in the doorway, and, to her surprise, he looked not the least bit daunted to find her there. In fact, he straightened when he spotted her, and flashed a grin in her direction before he stepped inside. Without him saying anything, Natasha knew why he was there–and she didn’t like it.

“Hey, [Name],” said the male agent as he got to your desk. Now his eyes were so fixed on you that Natasha felt absolutely sure that he was trying to pretend that she wasn’t there. She didn’t dare to move and interrupt him, but she also didn’t to keep silent and let him get on with things. Slowly she stood to her full height to watch the exchange through narrowed eyes.

“Hi, Holmes.” Your expression, unlike Natasha’s, had remained light the entire time. Even now, you smiled up at the man. For a moment, Natasha wondered whether you were really oblivious to his intentions, then she remembered who she was dealing with: her girlfriend. Of course you were oblivious. Suddenly her entire countenance changed. You’d promised her that you would start being more open about your relationship with her. This was going to be _good_. “Are you here for those forms Hand requested this morning?”

“Eh? Oh, no.” Agent Holmes paused to preen, causing Natasha’s smirk to widen. You _so_ were not into the preening type. “I’m actually here to see _you_.”

“Me?” you repeated. “Did I forget some personal paperwork?”

“No, no. I just wanted to talk.”

Your eyes widened. “Talk about what?”

If Natasha hadn’t already known it would embarrass you, she would have chuckled. The expression on Holmes’ face could not have made it plainer that your responses were not what he had been expecting. She hated to break it to him–well, no, she didn’t–but it had taken her two _weeks_ to crack through your shell and get you to understand she was asking you out. Five minutes would not get someone like _him_ to that point.

But he did not switch tactics. Holmes pushed your inbox out of the way, then settled himself on to the corner of your desk. That confused you, but you wouldn’t go as far as to kick him out for disrupting your working environment. When you looked up at him next, you looked a tad more suspicious than before.

“Look,” said Holmes, “what are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“Nothing different than I usually do,” you answered, clearly bewildered.

“Good! Do you want to do something different?”

“You mean like order takeout?”

“No. I mean like…do you want to go to dinner…with me? Like a date?” You stopped moving entirely, mouth half-open. Holmes didn’t notice. “I really like you. You’re sweet. I get off at five, too, so we could go to the restaurant right after, get to know each other a little better. What do you say?”

The clock on the wall ticked several slow seconds off before you found the voice to say, “I can’t.”

Color crept above Holmes’ collar, but Natasha had to hand it to him: At least he tried to save face admirably. “You can’t? You mean–you mean your usual dinner plans mean that you’re too busy and maybe we could try for next week?”

Your face crumpled with slight hurt, but you were by then even redder than him. “No…”

“Oh. So…you don’t like me?”

“No, no, I like you!” you said, nearly rising from your seat in your eagerness to make sure no one was emotionally injured due to your actions. “You’re very nice and I’m glad you talk to me.”

Holmes got to his feet, now looking away from Natasha more determinedly than ever. Even if he had no inkling about her relationship with you, it must have been very embarrassing to be rejected in her presence. “But?” he prompted you after nearly a minute of standing awkwardly beside you.

“Buuuut…” you drawled the word out, and your color turned even more vibrant. Natasha caught a few flashes of your eyes as they darted toward her. As much fun as this entire conversation had been, it was clear to her that she was going to have to do some of the work, at least to make things a bit easier for you. She stepped forward, snatched your hand, and turned toward Holmes with a friendly smile.

“But she’s already seeing someone,” Natasha said as she rubbed your knuckles with her thumb. It occurred to her suddenly that you might not have wanted it said, but a promise was a promise. Besides, when she hazarded a glance in your direction, you looked pink but pleased. Holmes, however, looked thoroughly mortified.

“I,” he cleared his throat, “see. And how long has this been going on?”

“A while.”

Natasha had just about decided that Agent Holmes had overstayed his welcome. Luckily, he decided shortly thereafter to see himself out. He nearly tripped backward in his haste to exit your cubicle, and disappeared around the corner without so much as a goodbye. She eyed the door for a minute or so afterward before releasing your hand.

“Well, that should stop all the marriage proposals you’ve been getting for at least a few days,” she remarked casually.

“Nat, I’m so–”

She held up a hand and you fell silent. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re likeable. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have asked you out either. Still, I’m glad I stayed. Otherwise Agent Holmes there might have lured you into his nefarious clutches.”

“Hardly,” you muttered.

Natasha lifted her eyebrows as she plucked the book off your desk again and settled back into her corner. After a few minutes had passed, it was as though the interruption had never happened at all.


	13. Send her love letters.

Paris was, as usual, beautiful. Natasha had learned that anywhere could be if she took the time to look. The window of her flat looked out across a wide courtyard. That early in the morning, the lampposts still glowed yellow-orange against the purple-blue sky. A few of the tables around the nearby fountain were occupied by women smoking, otherwise everything was quiet and still. She sighed as she settled in at the desk to watch the sun rise. Yes, Paris was beautiful, but it was not where she wanted to be.

This mission wasn’t terribly long, or so that’s what everyone said. Only four weeks; Natasha had had much longer. Two weeks in, however, and she was already having trouble sleeping. It was your weight she was used to in her bed, not Clint’s, and sex, she was finding, was more enjoyable with people she loved. Not that Clint was bad at it, he just…wasn’t you.

Natasha’s nose wrinkled. If Clint woke up and found her missing, he’d put two and two together. She would be forced to spend the rest of the mission listening to his teasing. Retaliation would get put on the report and that discussion with Maria would only prevent Natasha from getting home sooner rather than later. She wondered if you were missing her quite as badly, or if you were dealing with her absence by letting Trevor sleep in the bed. It would make her sheets stink, but at least you’d be happy.

Well, maybe not happy, Natasha mused as she twiddled with a pen. More likely you were bored now that you were out of a job. Natasha was only on assignment with Clint because Fury had called her up in the middle of finding herself again. She couldn’t take you along, not after blowing all of her covers, not when things were so dangerous. Natasha had thought about it at first, but anyone coming after her was likely to come straight for her instead. The Black Widow kept pets, not lovers. She might share living space, but never secrets.

That didn’t keep her from worrying all the same. She’d caught you a few times on the news since. You never said much, and you looked like you were doing okay. Probably Steve or Sam was checking in every so often.

By that time that day, the sun was shining through the windows. Light spilled across the gleaming wood of her desk, and she could hear a soft rushing sound coming from the bedroom: Clint taking a shower. Now that he was awake, Natasha would need to get ready. She didn’t much care about showering, but she should change into something more suitable, maybe eat breakfast…

Instead, Natasha paused. She still had the pen in her fingers. Clint was still in the shower, and was likely to be for another fifteen minutes. That was time enough to do something reckless and stupid, right? Natasha was full of reckless and stupid these days. One more thing couldn't make things worse than they already were.

_Dear [Name],_

_How are you holding up? Well, I think. I saw you on FOX the other day. Sorry they keep bothering you about me. Guess I should have known those files on me mentioned you._

_I’m in Paris right now. I won’t be much longer, otherwise I wouldn’t say. It’s nice the first ten times. Eleven is okay. Maybe it’s just that you aren’t here. I miss you. A lot. It takes a lot of effort not to call you and give away my location. It makes me feel stupid, but at least Barton is amused._

_This would be a lot more fun with you around._

_I’ll be moving on as soon as I take care of things. Barton said he’d look after you while I’m gone. I know you said you’d be fine, but for my peace of mind? Please? I’ve already asked you for a lot lately, I know. I’ll make it up to you somehow._

_I really hope you’re safe and well, and Trevor. Don’t let him in the bed. Don’t let Agent Holmes in the bed either._

_I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise._

_Natasha_

“Fury messaged. He wants us at the rendezvous point in twenty.” Natasha looked up to see Clint leaning against the doorway. His skin was still damp; all he wore was a white towel wrapped around his hips. Natasha had seen more of him plenty of other times. She didn’t so much as bat an eye; Clint didn’t smirk. “You gonna go like that?”

“Problem with my clothes, Barton?”

“Well, if you want to infiltrate a HYDRA base in your pajamas.”

“It would make things more of challenge.”

“You haven’t had enough of a challenge the past month?”

“Don’t talk as if you were there.” Natasha got abruptly to her feet. She didn’t want to Clint to see what she was doing. When she stopped to jot her address down on the envelope, though, he caught up. The way she whipped the paper away from him probably gave her away. He didn’t ask–not until she opened the door.

“What are you doing? We need to get going. You’re the one that keeps complaining about how long it’s taking to wrap things up.”

“I’ve got an errand to run. Meet you at the rendezvous point,” she called over her shoulder.

“In your pajamas?”

“If you promise to show up in that towel.”

Natasha paused at the mailbox several blocks away. The sky above her was a perfect shade of blue. Voices from the nearby marketplace drifted toward her on a warm breeze. Was it this nice back at home for you? She hoped so. You deserved that much. You also deserved more than her, but Natasha hoped you weren’t about to figure that one out any time soon. Slipping the letter in through the crack, she turned away and turned her thoughts to more important matters. The sooner she took care of things for Fury, the sooner she could get her identity straightened out again. The sooner she did that, the sooner she could return home to you.


	14. Tell her "I love you."

If Natasha hadn’t made several promises to go home as soon as she could, she probably would have waited a lot longer than she did. Three months was hardly enough time to find a suitable new identity, but she couldn’t stop worrying long enough to concentrate on making one. No matter what she did, people were still going to see her as the Black Widow, part-time Avenger, full-time government toppler. Meanwhile, you remained back in DC, probably worried sick and maybe deciding her absences were too long to maintain a relationship.

You appeared to have thought no such thing. She found you waiting on the tarmac when she returned, dinner in the crock pot in the kitchen, and the bed free of dog hair. Dinner went mostly ignored in lieu of picking things up where she had left off, and several hours later Natasha found herself staring up at her ceiling in the dark.

She had never been happier to come home before. Was that what was keeping her awake? Natasha should have been exhausted; she had spent the last three weeks on very little sleep, having garnered the attention of some anti-SHIELD folk in Hong Kong. With Clint keeping an eye on you, there was no one to keep an eye on Natasha. That very evening hadn’t been exactly relaxing either.

Natasha sighed and shut her eyes. Rather than relaxing her enough to finally drift off, the action simply made her more aware. Her hair was still damp from the shower; her stomach was full of your delicious cooking; her body ached in all the right ways. Absently, she shifted one arm to rub at your bare shoulders. Your breathing came in quiet, lengthy gusts–not quite asleep, but almost there. At her touch, you snuggled a little closer into her side. She smiled. And yet Natasha had really wanted to avoid this homecoming.

Why was she so afraid? It was not because she believed she’d find you dead, killed by HYDRA or SHIELD or anyone else that wanted revenge. You could take care of yourself well enough, and she’d put Clint on the case as well. No, it occurred to Natasha, she had been afraid to find you gone. The more she thought about it, the more she realized she was a pretty crappy girlfriend, and you were a pretty desirable woman. Disregarding the month where she had pretended you did not exist, Natasha had also exposed you to derision from the media, got you in trouble several times with Maria, and even nearly got you killed. When at last the two of you had made it home, away from listening ears and prying eyes, she had braced herself for a break up that never came.

“Hey, [Name]?” Natasha kept her voice down, in case you really had fallen asleep. Maybe that would have been for the best. She had no such luck.

“Mm?”

For a moment that felt like it lasted forever, Natasha didn’t answer. Did she really want to say this? Was she really that far gone? But she thought of Steve, and how if he had been in this situation, she would have made him say it somehow. _"Come on, Rogers. You're supposed to be_ brave. _Man up."_ She took a deep breath, and then, in a voice that didn't seem her own, said, “I love you.”

What she waited for afterward, she didn’t know. She had never said that before, at least not honestly. Whenever you’d said it, she’d just smiled or kissed you or squeezed your hand. Surely you’d hop up and do something emotional or embarrassing–or both. Natasha counted the seconds, suddenly worried again. Then she heard you give a quiet snort, and felt your back against her side.

“Love you, too, Tasha,” you murmured. “‘M glad you’re home.”

Nothing else was said. Natasha kept her ears open, but all she heard were your deepening breaths. Very soon after, Natasha felt tired herself–and happy. A smile curled her lips up as she turned over to spoon you. One last thing, before she followed you to dreamland:

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You didn’t answer; she didn’t need you to. There were still discussions that needed to happen: Where the two of you were going to go, whether or not Tony would let her bring you to the Tower, what to do now that SHIELD wasn’t around to employ you, how many agencies had bugged the apartment, just which files that you had read, but…for now, for just this once, Natasha thought that what she had was more than enough.


	15. Never forget her birthday.

Between Tony’s well-earned paranoia and Clint’s own observations, Natasha supposed that she should not have been surprised with the resulting outcome of her grand plan to have you really move in with her. She could forgive Tony for his comments: _"Sorry, Agent Romanoff, but with everything else going on, we can’t really risk you being distracted by your girlfriend’s gams”_ because it was Tony. Clint was harder; the claim that you could not take care of yourself if under attack rankled her perhaps more than it rankled you.

Natasha rarely fought with Clint, but when she did, it was a war of silence on both parts. Show his contrition though he might through remaining quiet whenever in her presence, Natasha was not ready yet to forgive him this betrayal–or perhaps no betrayal at all. There was a niggling worry in the very back of her head that was also to blame for her not inviting him to tag along on this trip: This might have worked out exactly how you wanted it. Then Natasha _would_ have to apologize to Clint, an act which she was very quickly becoming tired of.

The subway compartment lurched forward and Natasha’s body automatically adjusted in its seat to keep her upright. A man standing in front of her wearing much the same casual garb as herself smiled and Natasha’s mouth just as automatically smiled back. Here was one reason to have asked Clint to come with her: a male companion kept more male attention off of herself. Having recognized what had just happened with her traitorous lips, Natasha immediately turned her head to disinterestedly gaze at the advertisements sweeping past the windows. Her head was too full of worrying, planning, and grumbling to regard flirting with any enthusiasm. Perhaps the man would think she was rude. Natasha was in no mood to be polite.

She slipped out into the stream of exiting plebeians at the very next stop, following unfamiliar signs and stairways until clean air finally hit her lungs. This looked like the right place. All of the recent moving had upset Natasha’s normally keen sense of direction. The address, however, was printed in her mind as clearly as though written in ink, and a nearby street post soon had her on her way again. Natasha had to hurry. Much later in the day and she risked missing you altogether. Yet racing along would only highlight how nervous Natasha was. What little dignity she had remaining had to be kept, so Natasha walked, and as she walked, she thought.

She should have brought flowers.

She should have called ahead.

She should have asked if you even wanted her there at all.

The downfall of SHIELD had done nothing to clear Natasha’s schedule, not after she had moved to the Tower. Her plan had been to have you move _with_ her, but no such luck. Maybe Clint was right. Maybe Natasha shouldn’t have wanted to put you so close to any danger the Avengers might get into, but she did. If separation was undesirable when she chose the separation, it was even worse when chosen for her–chosen for you as well. Crummy new job, crummy new apartment, crummy old relationship with a woman who had so much on her plate that there was barely any room for you at all. The late night phone calls and video chats were not enough. Natasha wanted _you_ , but she couldn’t _have_ you. Except today. Today Natasha had _insisted_. She was taking the day off, and if anyone had something to say about it, Clint, they could cram it where the sun didn't shine.

She could have, she should have, she would have. Natasha found her pace quickening as your new apartment complex came into view. If you had looked out your window, you would have been able to see her racing along, dignity be damned. The rubber bottoms of her shoes slapped against the pavement, the hood slipped from around her ears. Natasha was almost there. If you hadn’t made other plans–If you hadn’t moved away without saying–if–if–if–

Natasha’s fist rapped against thin door to what she could now only hope was the right place. Her ears strained for any sound inside. There was a spare key safely ensconced within a secret pocket in her purse, of course, but she would have preferred not to use it. Going inside to wait for someone unannounced was something she could only do with people whom she had been seeing regularly for the past month. Who was Natasha kidding, dragging herself all the way to DC without so much a note to you? If you were home at all, you wouldn’t be waiting around for _her_. Best to just call this a day, message you from the Tower, tell you now was not a good time.

The door opened just as Natasha had turned to leave. She turned again. Rubbing sleepily at one eye, you stood in the doorway, one of Natasha’s old sweaters pulled over a tiny pair of pajama shorts. Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but you beat her to it, surprise quickly overtaking your features. “Natasha?”

“Hey.” She slipped her hands into the pockets on the front of her jacket. You continued to blink at her as though expecting her to disappear in the growing evening shadows, but you did not send her away. Natasha decided to risk a smile. “Happy birthday.”

Another blink. Another. Natasha’s smile slipped a few notches. Then you stepped out of your apartment to throw your arms around her and bury your face into her chest. Your “You remembered!” came out muffled but joyous.

“Of course I remembered. I’m not so bad at this that I’d forget your _birthday_.” Maybe, just maybe, Natasha heard you sniff. But when you peeled your face away to look at her, there wasn’t a trace of tears, just the biggest smile Natasha had seen on you yet. Laughing, she took your hand to lead you back into your apartment. Things weren’t great, Natasha would admit that. Still, seeing you happy like this was enough to make it feel as though it were _her_ birthday rather than yours.


	16. Tell her she's always right.

Natasha woke up the next morning groggy and half-clothed in semi-darkness. The sheets were pulled up above her shoulders; a pillow was mashed and warm beneath her head. For one wild moment, Natasha wondered what the hell kind of situation she had landed herself in the night before. Then, slowly, the familiar sound of deep, quiet breathing broke through her sleepy stupor.

“Mm.” Natasha made a low noise in the back of her throat as she rose from her blanket cocoon and looked for the source of the sound. She soon found the nearby lump and nearly smiled. _‘Still asleep.’_ Somehow. You looked much less comfortable than Natasha had been. You remained curled in on yourself, fully clothed, having not even bothered with covers. Sighing, Natasha wondered when this morning you had made it back from work. She couldn’t be bothered to wonder long, though, as she was hungry and the day was getting on. It wouldn’t be much longer before someone–Bruce, probably, since she wasn’t on speaking terms with anyone else–called and told her to come home.

One quick, soft kiss pressed to your forehead, then Natasha carefully extracted herself from the covers to pad silently down the short hall into the kitchen. For a minute or two, she simply stood there, yawning and blinking at the wooden cabinets and peeling linoleum. Such a depressing sight was sure to spur her to action quickly, however, and soon she was opening those cabinets and drawers in search of sustenance. An old package of crackers there, half an apple in the fridge, a box of Bisquick above the sink. Natasha’s frown grew more and more prominent as she hunted. Was this _really_ all you had?

“Gruf!”

Natasha turned to find Trevor behind her. His tiny tail wagged as she looked at him. Now she had to deal with your dog, too? The space behind him was vacant. She supposed she ought to just be thankful he hadn’t woke you up getting off the bed. You needed your rest, after all. Blinking once in greeting, Natasha went back to the task at hand. Empty cabinet. Empty Cabinet. Bag of…dog food?

“This what you’re looking for?” Natasha asked, shaking the bag. Trevor’s tongue lolled out of his mouth in answer. With a roll of her eyes, she sauntered over to the empty bowl in the corner of the room and poured in some kibble. “There you go, dog.” He set upon the food immediately, which left Natasha to eye the package in her hand with displeasure. The dog ate better than you did. Why was she not surprised?

That decided breakfast for two,. There wasn’t much to work with, so settling on pancakes didn’t take much more time. She was just finishing the second batch when yet another yawn punctuated the silence behind her.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Natasha twisted in your direction, half-smile already in place. You looked like you’d been hit by a truck: crumpled work clothes, mussed hair, pillow lines pressed into your cheek. Honestly, Natasha was impressed you could even stay standing. You couldn’t have had more than two hours of sleep the night before.

“What are you still doing here?” you inquired, settling into one of the paint-chipped bars tools at the counter. Natasha shook her own head of messy hair as she turned around with a plate of pancakes in each hand.

“Taking care of you,” she replied. The plate made a dull thunking sound when she sat it down in front of you. “Eat.”

Clearly you could tell by her tone that she’d already looked through your kitchen. You did not meet her eye as she set the mostly-empty bottle of maple syrup next to your waiting fork; your cheeks burned, and your hand lifted to twist a lock of bent hair. “It’s weird seeing you all domestic.”

“Hm.” Natasha smirked, sat down, and had several bites of pancake before she responded: “Come stay with me, and you’ll get to see it a lot more often.”

“Pass.”

To your credit, you took a bite shortly after, which relieved Natasha of one worry at least. Unfortunately, the damage of your blatant rejection of her admittedly joking suggestion had already been done. She pursed her lips for about a minute, watching you eat. Was it Natasha’s imagination that you looked thinner? God, gone just this long and she was already going off the deep end. But once she latched on to something–Steve’s love life, Clint’s mental health, your eating habits–Natasha always found it hard to let go.

“You’d get better food there, too,” she said. What she was more worried about, your eating or her pride, even Natasha didn’t know–and that was maddening. More maddening still was the slow way you finished chewing, swallowing, and putting down your fork before you answered:

“I thought the rest of them said I couldn’t come.”

You were hiding behind that. Natasha could tell. That wasn’t the real reason you’d said no. The trick was getting you to tell her what the real reason was, and that trick would require feigning ignorance. So Natasha smiled and skimmed a finger along the counter next to her plate. “Since when have I cared about what they say?”

“Natasha.”

“What?”

You pushed your food away with a sigh and fidgeted with your hair again. “You’re a good agent,” you said, like that meant she didn’t break the rules–like that meant that people like Steve and Tony didn’t break the rules on a regular basis, or like her even being alive still was against the rules. The Avengers Initiative had been built on breaking rules.

“So are you,” Natasha said, a fierce edge to her voice. That same edge hadn’t won her any points trying to convince the team to let you move in. She didn’t care.

“I was a _desk_ agent, Nat,” you said, not unkindly. Her eyes narrowed.

“Have you been talking to Clint?” 

There was a split-second where you bit your lower lip, and in that second Natasha knew _everything_. She opened her mouth, but you beat her to the punch: “Yeah. I have.”

So you admitted it. She could give you some grace for that. “How often?”

“Not as often as I talk to you.”

“About what?”

“You. Mostly.”

“What do you mean, me?”

You let out a long breath and pressed your hands to your face before getting up from your seat and walking over to her. Natasha didn’t move, but she didn’t exactly grin either when you made to take both of her hands. “You’re mad at him.” She didn’t deny it. “And Tony, but mostly Clint,” you went on. “I get it, Nat, I do. We were finally together and you had to move on, and now we’re doing this crappy long-distance thing. I get it.”

Apparently not. If you got it, you’d be upset. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” Natasha didn’t soften. You released her hands and took a step back, your stupid perfect doe eyes staring at her. “I just…don’t belong there.”

“You mean you don’t belong with me.”

“No.” _That_ was fierceness coming from you. “I belong with you. But not with the rest of them. You and Clint, maybe, sometimes. I’m no hero, Natasha. I’d just get in the way, and I can’t do that. They need you. _Everybody_ needs you.”

Natasha was quiet for a long time. Her head turned to stare toward the bland, off-white wall that led behind her into the cramped box of a living room. She had been expecting this for a long time, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt. Only kids got riled up over breakups, right? “But not you.”

At that, you laughed. Shocked, Natasha looked straight at you. “You’re so paranoid,” you teased, grabbing one of her hands again to give it a squeeze. “I need you, too. And I’ll be right here, watching all the news reports about what you’re up to and hoping you come home safe. But I trust you to do that. That’s why I think for now, it’s best if I keep out of the way of you and your team of super friends.”

She could only stare. There were so many reasons that this shouldn’t be happening right now. Natasha had gone over them again and again and again in her head, to the point where she just _knew_ if she didn’t get you over to the Tower with her that very day, she’d lose you forever. Here you were, though, smiling like this wasn’t hard, like somehow having Natasha in your life made everything worth it.

Your smile faltered. “Did I…say something wrong?” you asked, eyebrows tilting back. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“No,” Natasha finally answered. “I think you’re right. Like you always are.”

“Huh? But–”

She gave you a tiny shove back in the direction of your stool. “Get back up there and eat,” she commanded. “I’m going to make you some more, and then you need a nap.” In the wake of your surprise at Natasha’s reaction, you had no thought of arguing. Natasha was pleased to see you tuck in before she turned back to the skillet. Good. There was the rest of the day ahead of her. If she could manage that, and to avoid any phone calls from her friends, there was one last thing for her to do before she left, and that was to take you grocery shopping.


	17. Be her escape.

Time and distance were not Natasha’s allies. They never had been, as far as her relationship was concerned, but now they seemed to be actively working against her. One day, she was going for a quick jaunt to Eastern Europe, and the next she was working on Avengers stuff even further away than Manhattan. This might have been doable in the same unpleasant way as usual–except that time and distance had gained a valuable ally in Natasha’s sanity, or growing lack thereof. Once forcibly reminded she was a monster, it was surprisingly difficult to forget again.

She hadn’t called, and she knew that was bad. She knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to call even fully aware of how bad she was about avoiding it. There was always some reason to avoid doing so: she was tired, she was frustrated, Steve needed to talk shop, you’d surely already be at work. Realizing that she was still a crummy girlfriend by choice did nothing to prompt Natasha into positive action. It simply made things worse.

Another long day of training the new recruits found Natasha in her room again. She wasn’t exactly tired, at least not physically, because Wanda and Rhodey and Sam and Vision got along much better than the original team ever had. This amiability came with a cost, however, and that was too much time for Natasha to think. With her memories exhumed after so many years, Natasha could only really think about them, and of what she was letting them do to her. Several hours of that always had her prepared to spend the rest of her evening mulling things over alone.

That evening, however, Steve invited himself into her quarters. He’d told her on arrival that he just wanted to see what she thought about how the new team was coming along, but Natasha noticed that he was taking longer than usual to get to the point. Normally, she would have been suspicious of such behavior coming from Steve, but as it was, she was only _tired_. Pretty soon, Steve’s voice was nothing more than a vague babble in the background of her screaming mind.

“Natasha?” she heard Steve say from a distance. “Natasha.”

Letting out a sharp sigh, she forced herself back to the present. “What is it, Steve?”

She expected a reprimand, or perhaps even a request to repeat what Steve had been saying to prove Natasha had been listening for the past twenty minutes. But no. Steve could not be that predictable. Instead, all he did in the face of her obvious disrespect was look worried. Oh no. He was _worried_. It had been months since Natasha had been forced to see that Steve was worried about her. 

“Natasha…” he began.

Natasha didn't let him finish. “Steve, I’m exhausted. Can you just tell me what you want so I can go to bed?”

Steve regarded her in much the same way as he regarded Wanda when she tried to start fights with the other team members. It made an odd prickling sensation start buzzing up Natasha’s spine–a feeling that only intensified when Steve crossed the room to sit by her. She said nothing when he did, though, which forced Steve to prompt her into speaking:

“I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on, Rogers.”

“I think we know each other well enough that that lie doesn’t work on me anymore.”

Part of her wanted to glare at Steve. A handful of missions, a few bonding moments, and all of sudden she’d picked up a friend that was far too good at reading her for her own good. She had considered leaving a few times, just to avoid him, but where did she have to go except to someone else that could read her so well? When Natasha had nothing to say to him, Steve tried again:

“Things haven’t been right since Ultron.”

“It’s not Ultron that’s the problem.”

“It’s not Wanda either. She feels bad about it, you know.”

“I know.” Natasha sighed again, and pulled her knees up to her chest to rest her chin on them. As carefully as she kept her eyes away from Steve, she could still feel him staring at her. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to go out tonight.”

“What?” She was forced to look up at him at that. Oh _no_. His face was impassive, but that didn’t stop Natasha from feeling a sudden rush of panic. It took her a moment to regain her usually careful control; when she did, she licked her lips and even then her next words did not hold the right quantity of disdain, “Where the hell am I supposed to _go_?”

“I was thinking on a date. That’s something people our age do, right? Could’ve sworn you were obsessed with getting me one way back when.”

“I don’t want a _date_. I _have_ a girlfriend.”

“I know,” said Steve as he got to his feet. “That’s why I invited her over.”

“You did _what_?” Natasha felt surprised to find that she was standing herself. Her bad feeling about this meeting had every reason to exist. How could she talk to you when she had been so freshly reminded of her past? At least Steve had the grace to look abashed–but only in the pleased-with-himself way that only Captain America could manage without everyone around him wanting to punch him in the face. She felt pretty close to doing it, though. Ten more seconds and she might have. 

“Well,” Steve said, “I thought it might be nice to spend an evening staring at something a little more interesting than that wall.”

How had Steve known that had been exactly what Natasha planned to? “I’m not ready yet. I can’t…”

Steve prevented her from finishing that thought with a hand on her shoulder. “[Name]’s already here. I told her what was going on–just,” he added at Natasha’s stricken expression, “the general idea, none of the details. She was worried. What was I supposed to do? Tell her to wait for you to call? It’s been two weeks, Nat.”

“Tony would have told her that,” Natasha answered faintly.

“Well, I’m not Tony.” Steve turned to leave, but he stopped at the door when he noticed that she wasn't following. “Natasha? Suit up. That’s an order.”

Any plans Natasha might have had to wait Steve out, to sneak off when no one was looking, were utterly dashed. He waited and stared at her until at last she had no choice but to give him a single nod. He nodded back. “Good. I’ll tell her you’re waiting.”

It was the last thing Natasha wanted to do. If Steve had suggested she go apologize to Clint for something or spend the rest of the evening listening to Rhodey’s War Machine stories instead, she would have in a heartbeat. But an order was an order. And wouldn’t you know it? By the time Natasha did as she was told and was finally ready to leave her room, she did feel a _little_ bit better. She had a good feeling that talking to you for the rest of the night just might help, too. Good thing Steve wasn't Clint, and Natasha wouldn't have to say thank you to _him_.


	18. Tell her you believe this is a fairy tale.

Just seeing you after all the misery she’d felt in the past two weeks lifted Natasha’s spirits. Underneath Steve’s watchful eye, she greeted you with just the amount of enthusiasm she felt he expected from her. Not an iota of it was faked; she really _was_ glad to see you. Once out of sight, however, she felt some of her enthusiasm drain away. Unfortunate, since yours only grew. You took her by the hand for once, leading her to the waiting car outside the base and even all the way to the restaurant once you arrived. It would have been nice, had Natasha not been so distracted.

“So,” the elongated sound broke slowly through her myriad thoughts until Natasha found herself blinking at the table. There was an empty plate in front of you, and a picked at plate in front of her. When had dinner arrived? When had _you_ started eating better than she did?

Natasha decided she would have to play along. “So…what?”

Your eyes roved around her face, and Natasha wondered what you saw there. She knew she couldn’t look like herself, not if Steve was worrying about her. Then your arms were reaching across the table to snatch her hands up in a movement that was becoming all too familiar to her. When physically connected like that, she could feel a faint shaking coming from you that almost matched the frantic buzzing in her own head. “Natasha,” you said, “please.”

“Please what?”

“Talk to me.”

She looked away. Things weren’t quite so bad that she wanted to tear her hands away from yours. There was some comfort to be gained by touching you. Couldn’t she get out of this somehow? Couldn’t she laugh it off? “What’s there to talk about?” she asked with her best attempt at a smile that you did not share. In fact, you let go of her hands entirely. “[Name]?”

“You still don’t want to talk about it.”

Well, this was a straight answer. Natasha couldn’t really ask for anything else. You were being honest with her–but that did not mean that Natasha had to be honest with you in return. She shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s not what Captain Rogers said.”

“And what did Captain Rogers say?” Natasha asked. She kept her voice neutral, but it was a loaded question nonetheless. The flinch that flickered across your features made plain that you were well aware of this as well. Your hands slid into your lap as you tried to come up with an answer that would soothe her, and serve the further purpose of not getting you in trouble with Steve. Defeated, you sighed and allowed your shoulders to slump.

“He just said you were sad.”

“About what?”

“Nothing.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

Pink blush burned brightly in your cheeks. Try as you might have to meet her eyes, you just couldn’t manage for very long. Seeing Natasha’s obvious disbelief, you lowered your eyelids and fidgeted for a moment with your hands in your lap. Finally you said, “About your past,” almost as quietly as was possible.

“Mm-hm,” said Natasha. “Did he say anything else?”

“No!” you burst out. “No, Natasha, I _swear_. Captain Rogers just called and said that something had happened while you all were in Europe, something to do with Red Room–”

“What do you know about Red Room?” Natasha asked, unable to keep her voice from becoming sharp as steel. Your blush darkened to tomato red. She felt like her insides were quivering, and she did _not_ like the sensation. There was not a time in her recent memory, outside of Wanda’s manipulations, that Natasha had felt scared. This was no manipulation, either. Natasha was honest to god _afraid_ of you in a way that she had never been afraid before. “What did you read?”

“Nothing.”

You looked panicked: somehow pink and pale at the same time, sweaty and shaky, and altogether upset. But you looked honest, too. God, how Natasha wished that you didn’t always have to be the better of the two of you. “That stuff on me has been out for a while. Anyone could read it. You had plenty of time while I’ve been away.”

Her words caused you to shrink back in your chair. Natasha felt bad about that. Of course she did. Yet there was something that felt nice about someone else feeling crummy for once that made her more brutal side not want to stop, not even when you said quietly, “You asked me not to.”

“And when has that ever stopped anyone before?” she asked, keeping her voice light. Your pink flared up to lobster red; she had only ever seen fair-haired Steve turn that color before. You kept your eyes on her, however, in a way that inclined Natasha to think that you were telling the truth and that she was being a jackass.

“You told me not to, so I didn’t. If you’re going to tell me what happened, I want to hear it from you. Not some SHIELD report leaked on the internet.”

“You want me to talk about it? Fine. I'll talk about it.” Natasha could hardly believe her words, let alone her tone. Suspicion, nervousness, fear. This was no way to live. She hated herself more and more, not only because of what she had been, but because of what she was becoming. All over again she felt the hopelessness of loving someone real and human. Natasha was an assassin. A broken woman. A monster.

“Natasha–”

“When I was just a kid, my father sold me to Red Room. You probably already know that.” She didn’t even look at you to confirm this, just barreled right on, wishing that spewing the acid burning in her chest would get it out of her body. It wouldn't. “But when I graduated? They butchered me. I can’t have kids anymore. I can’t have a normal life. I-I tried to fail.”

It felt worse, infinitely worse, to hear her own voice crack like that. Last time she had come this close to genuine tears was standing in front of Loki over a year ago and listening to what he planned to force Clint to do. Only now she was breaking down in front of one of the few people who would really see through the breaking, that would know that this time it wasn’t a game. Natasha didn’t need anything from you–not anything that could be bought with crocodile tears, at any rate. What she wanted, she already had, but she didn’t deserve it. That was worst of all.

“Natasha,” you said, taking her hand in yours again. That was what broke Natasha, in the end. “We can’t have kids anyway. Not if we…”

If we stay together. That was what you intended to end your sentence with. Natasha knew. She knew, and she hated it, because she had let this situation happen. She had played too long and fallen in love for real, and now she didn’t have any idea how to get out. You understood her, even without understanding what she’d done. She took a deep breath that sounded far too shaky to mean that she was truly steady. Natasha had to speak, though. But what to say?

“This–this is fairy tale.” Natasha gestured at you and her and the table and the restaurant. “That’s the thing about fairy tales: they don’t come true.”

You pressed your lips together until they disappeared. Natasha looked away. She had hurt you, and had probably meant to. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a good enough person to accept your kindness and confess what was bothering her, let alone to watch your reaction to her refusal to do either. No, happily ever afters were for princesses, and Natasha never had been close to being a princess. This had started as Beauty and the Beast, but there wasn’t any magic spell for you to break. There was only Natasha’s past, and not even _you_ could do something to break that.


	19. Leave her her favorite snack.

Steve Rogers, Natasha decided, was a jerk. Oh, sure, he had the all-American charm down pat, and he was good at his job, and kind to boot. Only once he had convinced Natasha of his qualities, he went and did things like hire her girlfriend to work the front desk at the new Avengers headquarters. You had a better job, Natasha had you nearby, both Trevor and yourself were well fed–everything she wanted, just in time for her to have started yet another pointless fight.

There had been no breakup. More surprisingly, there had been no tears. You had sat back in your chair, called for the check, and walked Natasha back home again. As much as Natasha had wanted to kiss you goodbye, she simply hadn’t been able to figure out how after that display back there. So you stood on your toes and kissed her cheek, then disappeared into the waiting car. She watched you go, assuming that would be the last she’d see of you for a few months. The next day, there you were, sitting at the front desk and blushing as soon as you saw Natasha coming in the door. She ignored this for the time being, but by lunch time, she couldn’t anymore.

By then your desk was empty.

This continued to happen, day after day. Natasha shifted her schedule, still she would find you missing whenever she had a break from training or duty or helping Steve find information on his missing friend. It was like clockwork–too _much_ like clockwork, Natasha was beginning to suspect. Vision was frustratingly empathetic–frustrating in that he was using this power to aid _you_ rather than Natasha. In her opinion, he ought to have been letting her know when you were willing to listen to her apology. Instead, he seemed to be informing you of whenever Natasha was about to go on lunch. Without fail, no matter what time Natasha left her post of the day to find a meal or a nap or anything like that, your desk was empty, and remained empty even when she came back.

“Was [Name] gone again today?”

Natasha looked up as Wanda came to sit cross-legged beside her in the grass by the running track. Not to say that Natasha and Wanda didn’t get along, but things were almost always tense. If Natasha had had the wherewithal to work out what Wanda felt about her, she would have. There were too many other problems for her to keep track of for the time being, however, or to make her inclined to want to sit there and talk to the psychic girl about her problems–problems that Natasha, despite whatever she may have said to Steve, felt the psychic girl had caused to begin with.

“She probably went to lunch,” Natasha answered smoothly. “I’ll talk to her later.”

“Will later be tomorrow?” Wanda asked. Her eyes were on Vision, sparkling off somewhere in the distance as Rhodey pointed at the sky with increasingly complicated motions. If she thought Natasha believed for one minute that she was busy admiring her crush at the moment, Wanda was crazier than Natasha had first thought. Natasha thought Wanda was pretty damn crazy, so that was saying something. Yet it was only the crazy one that seemed insistent on talking Natasha through her problems.

“I don’t know.” It stung just as much to tell the truth to Wanda as it had to you. Natasha hated not knowing. Her life frequently depended on knowing. Now it was simply her happiness that did, and that rankled, too, knowing that suddenly she wasn’t just looking for survival: She was trying for happiness, too, like she had _earned_ that.

“I’ve never heard you say you don’t know something before, except to Steve.” Natasha looked over quickly enough to see Wanda’s split-second smile. God, she wanted out of here. Wanda was fine, she told herself; she did not hate Wanda. That didn’t exactly mean Natasha was over-eager to spend afternoons with her. She wasn’t about to start working on battle buddy maneuvers like Rhodey and Vision or Sam and Steve. But Wanda still wasn’t going away. “Must be a strange experience for you.”

Natasha stiffened. She opened her mouth, but the curious look on Wanda’s face stopped her from shouting what she had been planning on shouting.

“I am not reading your mind,” Wanda said, correctly guessing what Natasha was thinking, if nothing else. “One does not have to read minds to know how much you love her.”

Though this was true, it didn’t make Natasha feel any better. What Wanda said next actually made her feel worse:

“I have read her mind,” Wanda confessed as she stood, eyes again on Vision’s form across the track. “She is not mad at you. But she does not know what she is supposed to do to keep you.”

Apparently, whatever Wanda had planned to do by coming to have this little heart to heart, that was the end of it. Skirts rustling in the breeze, she walked off toward the two men to peer at Vision as he sailed across the sky in an exact copy of Rhodey’s motions from before. Natasha sighed. Sometimes she wished she could fly, so she could get out of this place unnoticed. She really was running out of places to run, though, and if Wanda was being honest with her, Natasha had work to do. Her last real fight with you was fresh in her mind. That had been her fault, but you had worked it out. This was her fault again, and she’d be damned if she let herself fall further into debt of makeups and apologies.

When she lingered after work that day, it was not with any plans to see you. She knew you wouldn’t be there. At least if she waited for a little while, there would be no one to spy on what she was doing. Creeping from her “hiding place” in the break room, Natasha kept an eye out for any signs of Vision or Wanda hanging about. All was quiet, except for the rumble of Steve’s voice coming down the hall. Your desk remained vacant; she felt surprisingly disappointed by that–but it did nothing to deter her plan. Out of her pocket, Natasha withdrew a bag of something she recalled you buying frequently from the vending machine back at SHIELD and settled it next to the phone. Beside the bag she left a note card with nothing more than a heart drawn hastily in pink highlighter.

She looked around again, half-hoping to see you coming from the bathroom. No such luck. You would find the gift in the morning, and that would have to do. It wasn’t much, but it was a start for Natasha, a start for a monster learning to be human again. At least she would be able to sleep that night. The morning would come, and perhaps with it another chance to start again.


	20. Remember her favorite color.

The snacks disappeared, and Natasha’s note along with them. At least the latter turned up a little later on a second secret visit to your desk, hidden but not crushed in one of your drawers along with a couple photographs of you with Natasha, and even a couple of the two of you with Clint (and one with the trio plus Bobbi, looking cool as always. What a memorable double date _that_ had been). That was heartening. You hadn’t give up on her entirely. The trouble lay in what else Natasha could do to prove that _she_ wasn’t giving up either.

For a while, she struggled with the idea of asking Clint for help. Whatever she said about him, he seemed to know what you liked, and she doubted your moving here meant that you had stopped contacting him regularly. If anyone really knew what your feelings on the present situation were, it would be him. And Wanda, of course, but Natasha didn’t like the idea of Wanda looking into your head much, and she liked the idea of requesting her to do so even less. Then again, she also loathed the idea of getting Clint in on the fight. She would have to handle things on her own. That was okay. Sometimes she preferred handling things on her own, and times she could do that were growing few and far between.

Your anniversary was coming up. Natasha was under no delusion that you had plans to see her. Much as she would have liked to throw something big together in an attempt to make things up, she knew that wasn’t the right way to go. She needed something small, but something that still made a big statement. Something you’d notice, but that wouldn’t make you feel bad about what–if anything–you got her in return.

And Natasha knew exactly what.

Thank heavens that the New Avengers headquarters came stocked with so many generic office supplies. Sure, there were relics of old SHIELD prototypes and pieces of junk and old scientific research papers hidden in the nooks and crannies, but so too did Natasha find just what she was looking for: old birthday streamers and tablecloths, napkins and flyer papers from way back when–all in just the right color: your favorite. Since no one here was really about celebrating these days (unless Tony popped by for some big shindig just to annoy Steve), she figured no one would miss them. They didn’t. Not until the day Natasha put her plan into action.

“I wondered where all that construction paper went,” came Steve’s voice from the door.

In the mood that Natasha had been in lately, she might have tried to look innocent. Steve already knew she wasn’t, however, and Natasha was too busy to worry about getting fired over something like taking old party supplies. If they’d been dangerous, Howard Stark would have left them in the _garage_ for any common thief to steal. These had been hidden in various unlocked cabinets. There was nothing common around here about stealing things from unlocked cabinets.

“I’ll return what’s left of it,” was all she had time to tell him, “if you want.”

Steve only continued to watch as Natasha cut, taped, folded, and stapled what remained of whoever’s birthday party decades ago. She did her best to ignore him, but that was the thing about Steve: he was kind of difficult to ignore.

“Okay,” he said finally. “This is weird. Even for you.”

“Shut it, Rogers. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Desperate?” Steve looked around, perhaps for an alarm or a flashing light. Obviously, this early before work even started, there was no such thing going off. “What exactly do we have to be desperate about?”

“Not we. Me.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Poor, sweet Steve. So worried over his childhood friend that of course he hadn’t noticed that though he had gone the extra mile of hiring her girlfriend, Natasha hadn’t exactly spent any time with her since that disaster of a dinner date. Probably he’d just been relieved that she had quit sitting around her favorite wall and moping. After all, her attempts to make up with you had re-energized her a bit. 

“It’s my anniversary,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Oh. Well, happy anniversary. Do you and [Name] need the day off for something?”

“No, Steve,” Natasha sighed. “She’s not talking to me.”

“She’s not?” He turned around like he could spot you giving her the cold shoulder at your desk that you weren’t supposed to be at for another forty-five minutes. “How long has that been going on?”

She shook her head. “If this works, it’ll stop soon. Besides, I deserved it.”

“Deserved what?”

The clock hanging on the wall behind Steve clicked another minute closer to 8:00. Now was not the time for this conversation. Natasha needed every single one of these colored objects in place well before you walked in the door to spot her work. Instead of answering him, she just gathered up what she had and headed toward the base's entrance. “I’ll explain later, Steve. I don’t have the time right now. And if that’s a problem, remember that if you hadn’t hired her, I never would have had to make up with her.”

Natasha pulled to a stop at the door. Steve stood there still, looking bewildered. Quick as a flash, she planted a kiss on his cheek. She was rewarded with Steve’s usual blush. “What was that for?”

“Because if you hadn’t hired her, I never would have had to make up with her.”

She didn’t stay to listen to Steve’s stammering. Not this time. Your shift would be starting soon, and she wanted to be far, far away when you came in to see what she had done. It would be much more fun to hear about your reaction through Wanda later on–or from a text message from you. Either way, Natasha wouldn’t be complaining.


	21. Hold her files at work.

There must have been _some_ benefit to working alongside a significant other. There must have been for someone, somewhere. Whether it was just being around them more often, or getting to spend lunch breaks together–well, Natasha wouldn’t know, would she? She got all of the misery and none of the joy. Still, she might have been content knowing you were working better hours, living a better life. Might have. If she hadn’t remembered at the worst possible moment that you being at Avengers HQ made _you_ a potential target of attacks just the same as her.

Rationally, Natasha knew you could take care of yourself. You were an ex-agent of SHIELD, too. Rational was a lot harder to be when the alarms started going off. Even after her anniversary stunt had failed to earn her so much as a smile in her direction, the first thing Natasha thought was, _'[Name].'_

So she found herself rushing _up_ stream while the rest of her team, the handful of remaining field agents, and the odd intern dove for battle stations or safety. Seeing the Black Widow running _away_ from danger couldn’t have been good for morale. Neither could her shouting at the slower people to get out of the way. She could apologize later (though she probably wouldn’t). All that mattered in that single moment was getting to you. Once she saw that you were safe, she could concentrate on the matter at hand.

Left to her own devices, she might have made it. Unfortunately, whatever higher power had decided to have a laugh by making her fall in love to begin with had other plans. Natasha rounded a corner without checking for oncoming traffic as carefully as she should have, and collided into a stack of files as tall as she was.

“Oh no,” squeaked the files as they tumbled to the ground.

Normally, she would have left the clerk to their own devices. Who thought it was a good idea to move files around during an emergency? But the voice pulled Natasha to an abrupt stop. Her eyes snapped downward to meet those owned by her obstacle, just as yours moved upward to meet those of your assailant. Cliché of clichés, despite all of the chaos going on just then, time felt as though it froze. Natasha didn’t think she was the only one that felt that way either.

Too soon, the moment was over. Tremblingly, you ducked your head to begin stacking up your files again. That was it, then. You still didn’t want to talk to her. Natasha watched, half-tempted to get to her position and pretend that this entire interaction had never happened–but she couldn’t do it. She bent down without a word to help.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yes, I do,” said Natasha. You fell into red-faced silence, exactly the opposite of what she wanted. As her gaze drifted slowly back to her hands, she thought that she must have hurt you badly. Obviously. How else could you react like this, like just being _near_ her caused you pain, after all she had done to prove her feelings hadn’t changed? If you still wanted her, you would have said so already, or done something already, like the first time she’d attempted to give you the cold shoulder.

And that hurt her, she realized. To try and fail to keep you _hurt_. No matter how casually she behaved when the subject came up, no matter how easy it was to just avoid looking at your empty desk as she walked past in the mornings, Natasha had really, truly wanted the two of you to make up. She had never believed in fairy tales, but _you_ had, and Natasha had almost thought that that would be enough. Apparently, she’d _cured_ you of that nonsense instead.

Paperwork straightened, Natasha stood with the files in her arms. You continued to look anywhere but at her, but that was hardly a surprise. In fact, it made it easier for her to take what papers you still had and add them to her pile. This did, in fact, get you to gape at her. Your mouth opened as though you might finally have something to say. That was too little too late. She forced a smile as she turned back in the direction you had been headed.

“All non-combat personnel is supposed to head directly for the safe house as soon as the alarm goes off,” she said, as explanation for insisting on walking you there herself. But once that was done, so was Natasha. _She_ was the one that had said that there were no happily ever afters in her future, after all. The only thing left to do was to hope that maybe, in a few months or years, you both could go back to what you were to begin with: friends. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she supposed in this case, it was the most she could wish for. Time to stop waiting for things to change. She had a job to do, and healthy relationships had never been part of the perk package.


	22. Give her hugs and kisses.

Hours later, an exhausted Natasha finally limped back to her quarters. She had managed to avoid a lot of damage during the skirmish; a few cuts marred her face and she was pretty sure her left pinkie finger was broken, but all in all it had been a minor sort of battle. What had kept her away so long was who had started it. There’d been only enough evidence to make a guess, which was why Steve had had her locked up with him until nearly two in the morning. Now that they had a pretty good idea of who had sent mercenaries after the new team, she didn’t feel too bad about passing the actual job of tracking him off to Sam so that she could rest. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel like she _could_ rest just yet.

A steaming cup of instant ramen noodles sat in front of her as Natasha settled down at her laptop. She knew it was late. She also knew the building had only recently been compromised, but she felt cagey and raw, and she needed to process before she went to bed. All she could do now was hope that her best friend was actually going to answer. Thankfully, he did.

“Hey, Nat,” Clint said. His hair was mussed and his eyes half-glazed, an obvious sign that she had woken him up–that, and the fact that he was sitting in bed. She didn’t feel too bad, seeing as how often Clint had done the same to her. He yawned widely, then went on, “Haven’t got a crack of dawn call from you in a while. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered. A standard answer, Natasha thought, but apparently it wasn’t to Clint. He stopped yawning long enough to regard her seriously.

“You don’t look fine. Looks like you’ve been in a fight.”

“Rumlow sent Steve a surprise present. You think I'm bad, you should see the other guys.”

“Rumlow? You guys got him locked up over there now?”

Natasha shook her head, blearily scooping ramen into her mouth. “He didn’t come along. Sam and Steve are trying to track him down. The team’ll be headed out to find him tomorrow.”

“Hey, first big mission for the new Avengers. That’s pretty exciting.” He was smiling. Natasha got the feeling he knew that she hadn’t called to shoot the breeze, but in this case, she had. She didn’t want to think about work, or about anything else for that matter. Time to change the subject.

“Yep,” she said. “How is retirement treating you? How’s Bobbi?”

“No idea. Haven’t seen her in a few months.”

She frowned at that, and at how bad her unhealthy dinner tasted. Still she continued to shovel the noodles into her mouth, well aware that she’d sleep better with a full stomach than an empty one. “I thought you two were getting back together.”

“Nah,” said Clint, shifting back in his bed. “She’s with her ex-husband again.”

“Lance?”

“The very same.”

“How did she get in contact with Lance again?”

Clint shrugged. “Guess Coulson’s got them both working with his SHIELD cell nowadays. Weird that they’re working _together_ now, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” said Natasha. She was, really. Now that she knew how it felt to lose the person you were in love with, she could really sympathize with Clint. Her focus was not entirely on that sympathy, however. No, she was thinking about Coulson. About SHIELD. She’d forgotten that other team entirely while working with Steve. Now here was an opportunity to go back to what she knew, back to spy work, and away from you. She knew she couldn’t do it, though. Like it or not, she was an Avenger. That was her job now–and she didn’t want to make a habit of running from her problems.

“Don’t be,” said Clint, his eyes squinting up into his familiar smile. “How about you, Tasha? How are you doing?”

Maybe calling her best friend in the entire world hadn’t been the greatest plan. Of course Clint could tell something was wrong. He _was_ her best friend. She’d have to be insulted if he couldn’t tell something was wrong. “I’m fine,” she said again.

“Gonna have to call bull on that. You don’t FaceTime me unless it’s an emergency.” She said nothing, and his smile grew a little wider. “It’s [Name], isn’t it?”

“How did you know? Are you talking to her?”

Clint actually _laughed_ at the sudden sharpness in her tone. “No, I’m not talking to her. I just know you. Did something happen between the two of you?”

Natasha’s first instinct was to deny–deny, switch off the computer, and go to bed. But why? Clint would find out someday. Sighing, she shook her head. “I said some things I shouldn’t have. Hurt her feelings. She won’t talk to me. I’ve been trying to _show_ her that I’m sorry, but…”

“But it’s not working,” he finished for her, not unkindly. She smiled herself.

“I ran into her today. Literally. She wouldn’t even look at me. Guess that makes it pretty obvious that we’re done.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll survive.”

“I know you will,” he said, “but I also know it’s gonna hurt. It’s okay that you hurt, Nat. Just means you’re human like the rest of us.”

Her mouth opened to argue. _Not_ being human was what had started this entire mess to begin with. Before she could make an attempt, however, there was a knock at the door. Natasha’s head fell into her arms as she groaned. “Someone’s at the door.”

“At this hour?”

“Probably Steve. Probably wants us to get on the Rumlow hunt within the hour. I better get going.”

“Roger that. Over and out.” Clint saluted her, then his picture vanished from her screen. As urgent as the matter was, Natasha couldn’t find it within herself to get up immediately. She continued to sit, chin resting on her crossed arms, until Steve knocked again.

“Coming!” she called as she pushed herself out of her chair. Her fingers were adjusting her hair before she opened the door, her lips already saying, “I’m still dressed. I can be ready in ten minutes. When are we leav…”

But it wasn’t Steve standing outside, hands on his belt buckle and shield on his back. It wasn’t Sam, either, with his wingpack already strapped on and ready to go. Instead, it was you. Your eyes were huge in your face, and your hands were clasped in front of your chest. Natasha was so shocked to see you somewhere that wasn’t at your desk that she forgot to say anything. You shuffled nervously, then forced yourself to speak:

“Can I come in?”

Again, Natasha found herself speechless. Not thoughtless, however. She was thinking _a lot_. About how she wanted to say yes. About how she wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. About how this was probably going to be a proper breakup, which would bring closure but a lot of that pain Clint had mentioned along with it. She said, “sure,” and opened the door wide enough for you to slip inside.

More silence as you looked around her room. It was the first time you’d seen it, she realized. Natasha couldn’t believe that you and she hadn’t spoken since your first night here. You weren’t going to come back again, either. Your first visit was also your last. Finally, you stopped searching and looked at her.

“Your room is nice,” you said.

“Thank you.” She had filled the place with knickknacks taken from the countries she had visited for work. Certainly her room wasn’t as Spartan as Steve’s, but still it lacked the warmth and personality of places like Wanda’s. Did it look like somewhere she would live to you? “Look,” she began. “Things haven’t been going well. I get it. So if you’re here to–”

“I’m sorry.”

Natasha stared at you. It was not often that she found herself in an entirely new situation, but you apologizing to her was definitely one. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” you said again, and tears practically exploded from your eyes. “I’m so sorry, Nat. I should have tried talking to you sooner. I just didn’t know how after our dinner. I didn’t even think you _wanted_ me anymore.”

“Of course I still wanted you,” she said, somewhat bewildered. “I left you those snacks. And the party decorations. I would have told you so if you’d have talked to me. You were avoiding me.”

“I-I know. It was stupid. What was I supposed to say? I don’t think you’re a monster. I don’t care that you can’t have kids. But you think you are, and you do care, and there’s nothing I can do to change your mind. If it was such a big deal that you do-don’t want to be with me–”

“Obviously I want to be with you. [Name], I have never had something like this before. I’ve never done romance. All of this is new and–and not exactly easy to figure out.”

You took a huge shuddering breath before shooting her a determined look. “It’s new and not exactly easy for me, too. I shouldn’t have avoided you. I shouldn’t have talked to Steve about what was going on before I tried to talk to you. I screwed up. If you want to break up with me, go ahead and do it.”

Oh, so it was down to Natasha, was it? That wasn’t exactly fair. She lifted a single eyebrow. “Is that what _you_ want me to do?” she asked.

For another long moment, you stood right in front of her. The hands at your sides balled into shaking fists. Natasha stood and waited for the final blow, that very last yes. Instead, you let out a sob and threw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her as you pressed your face into her chest. “N-No! I want to start over and stay together.”

Confused–and now with a very moist top–Natasha didn’t push you away. Her own arms automatically went around you and pulled you close. So maybe it was stupid, but Natasha felt a smile pull across her face. “I think,” she said, and pressed a kiss to your temple, “that can be arranged.”

Her only answer was a violent tremble and another sob, but Natasha didn’t care. The details could be worked out later, provided Steve himself didn’t show up to send her to work in a few minutes. For the time being, Natasha could relish in finally, finally having you in her arms once more.


	23. Show her off to your friends.

Natasha’s arm shot out whip-quick from underneath her comforter the second the shrill shriek of her alarm clock started up. The light filtering through the filmy curtains was still a soft gray at 5:45 in the morning. Plenty of time and darkness left for her bedmate to sleep before her alarm went off, even if she needed to get a move on herself. She twisted around for her traditional final look at you (or rather the lump of you underneath the covers) before she left on a mission, and found the bed next to her empty.

She sat up. “[Name]?”

No answer. Kicking the sheets off her legs, she got out of bed, pulled on the sheer robe draped over the nearby chair, and padded barefoot over to the attached bathroom. “[Name]?” she called as she stuck her head inside. This room, too, was empty.

With a frown, Natasha pulled her robe tighter around her and then left her bedroom. It wasn’t the first time you had left early for work without telling her, but Natasha felt vaguely disappointed. She didn’t make a habit of assuming any assignment would be her last. Still, she preferred to say goodbye to you in some fashion before she left. Wordless or not, it felt like something that would matter to her if anything _did_ happen while she was away.

Not that anything was likely to this time either. Brock Rumlow–now going by Crossbones–was slipperier than anyone had expected. They’d run into only his goons the last half dozen times the team had gone after a lead. He was certainly someone to be careful about if and when he finally decided to show his face, but until then his lackeys left a lot to be desired in terms of ability to inflict injury upon Natasha.

Voices drifted toward her down the hallway from the common living area of the newly renovated Avengers’ housing quarters. Apparently she was not the first team member up and ready for briefing. She hoped that meant breakfast was already on the way, and that Vision was not the one in charge of cooking that morning.

“I didn’t realize we were bringing new blood along,” came Rhodey’s voice. “What’s your thing? You stretchy, talk to birds, got laser eyes, what?”

Natasha entered the room before his unknown companion could answer. When she did, she saw that unknown companion–you–glance up at her. She grinned right back and picked her way through the kitchen to slip her arm through yours. “Actually,” she said brightly, “she’s not here in any professional capacity. She’s here as my guest.”

She wasn’t looking at Rhodey as she said it. No, Natasha was looking at you. You smiled shyly in return. That was how you were about a lot of things now that the two of you had made up: shy. Natasha didn’t care in the slightest so long as you were with her. Things were getting better and easier every day, as evidenced by you passing over a steaming mug filled with some dark liquid. “Good morning,” you murmured. “Made you some coffee.”

“You’re too good to me.” One kiss was pressed to your cheek before she took her first sip, turning back to Rhodey as she did. His teeth were a flash of white in his handsome face, though he covered his grin quickly enough.

“So that’s how it is,” he said, and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest.

Natasha swallowed her mouthful of coffee. “That’s how it is.”

A silence followed during which she could feel your anxious twisting next to her. Worry wasn’t anything she felt, however. Rhodey might have looked intimidating even out of his War Machine armor, but in reality he was nearly as friendly as Tony, if (thankfully) less exuberantly so. She wasn’t entirely sure you were ready to meet Tony yet. Rhodey smiled again and moved forward, hand outstretched.

“So you’re the girlfriend we’ve been hearing so much about,” he said as you took his hand. “Good to finally see you. I was starting to suspect Natasha was lying to us about having one just to compensate for something.”

You chuckled. Miraculously, the sound wasn’t nervous at all. “You all have been so busy. I don’t want to get in the way.”

Now that her cup was half drained, Natasha felt warm enough to set it aside and make some proper introductions. “Colonel James Rhodes,” she said, “this is my girlfriend, [F Name] [L Name]. [Name],” she took a step back to place her hands on your shoulders, “this is Colonel Rhodes. We call him Rhodey.”

“You can, too,” he said. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“You, too,” you answered, flushed but obviously not in any rush to head back to the relative safety of the room you shared with Natasha. She was proud of you. Too bad she couldn’t say that in front of everyone without embarrassing you more than you already were. There were other, more acceptable ways to embarrass you, though. Natasha nuzzled your cheek and as you started away from her, she looked back at her friend.

“Isn’t she cute?”

“Natasha!” you spluttered.

Rhodey laughed. “Adorable.”

Everyone else on the team thought so, too–even Steve, who Natasha knew had spoken with you before. She introduced you as each of them trickled in one by one and headed for the coffee machine. Your constant blush betrayed your feelings about meeting not only the world’s premier group of heroes, but also your girlfriend’s makeshift family, and you handled those feelings with aplomb. Natasha gave you a last kiss before you ducked out to let Steve brief everyone on the mission. Just before you vanished, she saw you sidle up to him.

“Keep her safe for me?” you asked.

“We’ll make sure to bring her home,” he answered.

Funny how just hearing that almost made her feel warmer inside than the coffee had.


	24. Hold her hand just because.

The Avengers returned home bruised, tired, and frustrated—but they _did_ return home. It had been a long week. No one felt particularly good about the mission. Rumlow had slipped through their fingers once again, and Steve felt certain that whatever he’d planned for this outing, he’d succeeded. Normally he and his goons weren’t so quiet. There had been the usual scuffle before the mercenary team had vanished entirely. After seven and a half straight days of that, was it any surprise that no one really wanted to go to the trouble of cooking dinner when they got back?

So no one did. Oh, you offered, but Natasha wasn’t about to ask her girlfriend to cook enough for a team five, one of which was a super soldier with a matching appetite. Besides, she’d seen what your idea of a meal was. A bowl of cereal wasn’t going to cut it for anyone but her.

She wasn’t sure exactly what chain of events landed her in the following situation, but overall, she couldn’t say she minded. Fifteen pizza boxes, most of them Steve’s, sat on every available flat surface in the living room that did not already contain someone’s rear. The lights were dimmed and a tired hush had fallen over everyone present, save for Sam. Even _he_ wasn’t making much noise outside of snorting and an occasional murmured, “Man, those morons are gonna get themselves _killed_.”

The rest of the team was too involved in the movie to silence him. Well, maybe not the movie. When Natasha looked around, only Steve was watching _The Cabin in the Woods_ with rapt attention. Rhodey was asleep in his armchair, his soft snores much less distracting than Sam’s quiet outbursts. Wanda and Vision appeared to be staring at the television screen at first glance, but their hands kept inching closer and closer the more time passed. Natasha caught them smiling at each when they thought the other wasn’t looking, too. Not that she could blame them.

Natasha herself was a little more interested in her own goings-on then whatever Thor’s lookalike was up to. Curled up against the arm of one of the sofas, she had you wrapped up in a blanket and settled against her. Despite the fact that she suspected you had got about the same amount of sleep that she had while she’d been gone, you were forcing yourself to stay awake. Her fingers that had previously been in the occupation of playing with your hair slid down to grip your hand. If Wanda and Vision were attempting it, why not her?

You turned your head just enough to shoot Natasha a wordless smile. Natasha smiled back before leaning forward to brush her lips against your cheek. When she sat back to turn her attention to the movie, you squeezed her hand and snuggled closer.

Life could never be perfect; Natasha was not fool enough to believe that it could be. Still, she felt that that night—full of pizza, surrounded by friends, sitting close to you, listening to Rhodey’s steady breathing nearby—was pretty damn close. For once, she had found herself somewhere she felt content. At last, she was somewhere she could see herself saying for a long, long time.


	25. Treat her like a star.

Natasha had never considered herself to be of a superstitious bent of mind. She took life as it came. What would be, would be; what wouldn’t, wouldn’t. Outside of the battlefield, preparing for the worst ate up what enjoyment she could get out of her free time. The trouble was, her life outside of the battlefield had never been as good as it was the afternoon she returned early from an assignment. Steve’s new team worked well together even with Rhodey gone for his day job; Tony appeared to be behaving himself over in Manhattan; and she no longer felt she had to worry about Steve throwing himself off the highest point he could find now that he’d discovered a purpose in tracking Bucky down. Still, something inside her said she’d have to pay for this stint of stability and happiness with a tragedy somewhere down the line.

“Just take it a day at a time, Tash,” Clint had advised during their latest weekend call. “You’ve earned a little comfort. Don’t ruin what you have now worrying about what might happen.”

She was inclined to listen to him. His relationship with Bobbi was notoriously tumultuous. On the other hand, as far as Natasha knew, Clint was at present holed up in an old apartment building with some rich teenager he’d met via her running off with his bow, and spent his time those days rescuing dogs from the Russian mafia. No one had any idea where Bobbi was, least of all her former flame. Clint might not have been Natasha's best example of healthy relationships.

While the rest of the team remained chatting in the Quinjet bay, Natasha slipped into her bedroom on the compound with practiced silence. Doing so was hardly necessary; it was the middle of the day for once, instead of her arriving home at the usual two or three in the morning. The sunlit area was empty anyway, save for Trevor snoring in his bed. A vague pang of disappointment resounded through her chest as she dropped her keys and a number of knives, pistols, and batons into a bowl waiting by the door. Of course you were out and about in the middle of the day. She could catch up with you later. Besides, this gave Natasha time to clean the muck out of hair before you saw it. Finding blood clots on her person tended to ruin the mood for you.

Contemplating this, she made her way over to the suite’s attached bathroom. If she moved quickly, there might be time enough to pick you up for a nice dinner. It was hard to get romantic at meals with the rest of her roommates, what with Wanda and Vision watching so closely for what Natasha could only assume were pointers. Her fingers had found the zipper on her cat suit and half-peeled the fabric from her skin before the fact that she was not alone beat through her preoccupation with dining possibilities.

A faint humming drifted from the shower, barely audible over the force of water hitting the shower floor. She paused, but only for a moment. Then she smiled. Who else would be in this particular bathroom but you?

Natasha swiftly removed the rest of her clothing. Once it was in a pile on the tiled floor, she stepped over to the shower door to crack it open. “Hey,” she said.

You gasped and spun around, clapping your hands over your chest as you did. However much she might have startled you, however, your fear dissipated instantly upon seeing her there. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you home so soon,” you said as you dropped your hands. This gave Natasha such a good view of your breasts that she found it difficult to concentrate on answering you. Somehow she still managed.

“Things went smoother than Steve assumed. Mind if I join you? Things got a little messy.”

You beamed from underneath the stream of water. “Of course!”

“Thanks.”

She stepped inside, then pulled the door shut behind her to enclose the pair of you steamy silence. Without further prompting, you shuffled out of the way to let Natasha get warm. It was almost as though she wasn’t there, you so casually went for the shampoo. That wouldn’t do at all. She had been hoping for a more involved shower than _this_.

Her chance came quickly enough. Shivering slightly, you approached the center of the stall with bottle in hand. Before you could start on your hair, Natasha plucked the shampoo from your grip, looped one wet arm around your waist, and carefully pulled you to her chest. You made a noise of shock that she did not read as protest. “Natasha—” you began.

She pressed her lips to your ear. “Shhhh. Let me have this.”

A quiet moment passed while she waited for you to step away. When you didn’t, she allowed herself a mischievous grin, then lowered her head still further to nip the side of your neck. You yelped— _definitely_ not a sound of protest.

“I should be doing this for you,” you said weakly, after Natasha had squeezed some shampoo into your hair and began to work it into a lather. The kiss she gave you that time was pressed softly to your cheek.

“Later,” she promised. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

Because no matter how well she was trained to expect the worse, Natasha wasn’t going to let superstition ruin this. She would never deserve you. You didn’t care—and she would never let you go ever again, so long as it was in her power to make you happy.


	26. Dream about her.

Many, many years had passed since last Natasha saw the harsh white light and felt the biting cold of her childhood home. Still she recognized it with no difficulty as soon as she opened her eyes. The sight of the eerily empty room of bunks shocked her to her feet—or should have. Something caught her arm and pulled her back before she could get too far. The rusted springs under the mattress screeched loudly enough to cover her gasp of surprise. 

Wincing, she sat up more slowly the next time, the better to find out what was keeping her held down. She saw exactly what she expected to: a silver handcuff pressed against the scar on her wrist, its other circle looped around the tiny bed’s headboard. Mouth suddenly dry, Natasha swallowed. “Home sweet home,” she said aloud. 

“Good. You are awake.” 

She twisted toward the voice. The old stone walls of Red Room’s dormitory dissolved in a whirl of ice and snow. So, too, did the bed beneath her. Now she stood in the building’s courtyard, shivering in the nightgown given to all new recruits, now stretched to fit an adult's body. A tall woman with hair as steely as her expression strode Natasha’s way. 

For several seconds, Natasha could only mouth wordlessly. Her former instructor crossed her arms over her chest. Despite the bone-biting cold outside, she didn't shiver in her sleeveless dress. 

“Madame B.?” Natasha croaked at last. The woman before her raised a single brow. 

“You expected someone else?” 

“You’re _dead_ ,” Natasha said. “I saw you _die_.” 

“You saw what I wanted you to see. Has living in America really degraded you so much? No matter. We will get you back up to standards in due time.” 

Her forehead creased, Natasha looked around. A Quinjet soared into the sky about Sokovia. Clint shouted for her to hurry to the helicarrier. But standing on the roof of Stark Tower with Madam B., Natasha couldn’t listen to him. There was no way she would make it back in time. 

“How did I get here?” she asked. “I don’t remember how I got here.” 

Madame B. smirked. Someone screamed. They screamed such a scream that goosebumps erupted up Natasha’s arms. A wind more bitter than any before blew her hair across her face. When she could see again, she was out of the cold, inside the sharp-smelling sterilization room that she had once feared. Against the barred window in the wall sat a medical bed, and on top of that thrashed a figured that had been tied down to the flat surface. 

“Did you think,” said Madame B. from behind Natasha, “that we would not discover you? Did you think that we would not discover _her_?” 

“Natasha!” you shrieked over the rattling of the bed. “Natasha, please!” 

“Why are you doing this?” Natasha demanded. 

Above her loomed Madame B., throwing the entire room into shadow. “Just because you cannot have children with a woman does not make the relationship acceptable. We taught you better.” 

“Natasha. Natasha, _help_.” 

A sudden blinding light flashed out of the darkness to train directly on the operating table. A swarm of doctors descended upon you. Struggle as she might, Natasha could not move her feet. She was rooted to the spot as your screaming hit its greatest pitch yet. 

“Let her go,” Natasha begged the room at large. “Let her go. It’s me you want. Not her.” 

“And we will have you.” Madame B.’s voice came from the mouth of every doctor in the room. “But first we must teach you a lesson. Why do you cry? We would not do so much for anyone else. Anyone else would die, as she must. It is necessary. You always were our star pupil.” 

“Natasha! Natasha! Tasha—come on, Nat, wake up.” 

A great, shuddering breath brought Natasha back to her present day bed in her present day home. The blinds in her bedroom at Avengers HQ were drawn against the night; the only light inside was soft, warm, and coming from the lamp on the table on your side of the bed. Cold sweat beaded across her skin. Only several gasps later did she notice you crouched above her. 

“Sorry,” she said, voice much steadier than she felt. You shook your head, then shifted to sit on your knees beside her. It took all of her considerable self-control to not get out of bed to start checking for monsters in the closet. That left her with very little self-control remaining to make it look like she was perfectly fine. 

“You okay?” you asked her. “You don’t typically have nightmares.” 

“I have nightmares all the time. They’re just not that bad.” 

“Do you want to talk to about it?” 

She considered your question in silence for several minutes. As she did, her eyes roved across your tired face, searching for signs of tampering or torture. There were none. Of course there weren’t. Madame B. was dead. Red Room was a part of Natasha’s past. It had been a bad dream, nothing more. 

“No, I’ll be okay. I’d like to just…” With the fear still sticking to her mind and skin, she couldn’t bring herself to ask for what she really wanted. But she didn’t have to. You smiled, wormed your way back under the sheets, and inched backward until your back met her stomach. 

“Love you,” you whispered. 

Though Natasha did not answer, she wrapped her arms around your middle and pulled you closer still. Your comforting scent filled her nose. Several lungfuls of this finally got Natasha back on track. She pressed a single kiss to the top of your head before closing her eyes again. There, with you safe in her arms, she was able to slip into a dreamless sleep.


	27. Tell her she's the best girlfriend ever.

Date night two weeks later drew to a close among the soft conversation of the soon-to-close restaurant. Natasha returned the dessert menu to the waiting server while flashing him her brightest smile. That his fingers brushed her underneath the thin sheet of laminated paper was not an accident, nor was her response of a larger smile still. 

“Please make sure to bring that with _two_ spoons,” she said sweetly as he continued to stare at her. 

Blush jumped straight from his neck to his face; he shot a glance in your direction, and then he hurried away. To your credit, you managed to keep a straight face until he disappeared around the corner and into the kitchen, but as soon as he did, you allowed yourself to shake your head. 

“What?” Natasha asked. 

“You are so awful! Teasing him like that. If you’re going to flirt, don’t ruin it by reminding the poor guy about _me_.” 

“Just trying to stay in practice. Besides, we don’t need a free dessert _every_ time we go out to eat.” 

“We wouldn’t _get_ them all the time if you weren’t so breathtakingly gorgeous,” you replied. 

“How do you know it wasn’t _you_ he was into?” You lifted a single eyebrow. Shifting her napkin in her lap, Natasha offered you a demure shrug. “Well, _I’ve_ been trying to work out how I’m going to get that dress off of you since we left HQ. Who’s to say he wasn’t wondering the same thing?” 

Just like that, the tension broke. You giggled and reached for your glass of wine. After you’d drained the last of it, you set the glass down with a sigh. “I almost don’t want to go back there.” 

That surprised Natasha, though she hid her frown. “I don’t _have_ to take your dress off tonight,” she said. You responded by tossing a chunk of leftover breadstick at her. 

“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t like when you have to leave me for so long.” 

Only her intensive training kept her heart rate from picking up. You were nearing the reason she had decided to go all out for this date to begin with. Most date nights involved you and her watching Netflix alone in Natasha’s bedroom, but tonight was more important than most. She had spent a lot of time thinking things through. This was not a spur of the moment sort of thing. All the same, she wasn’t sure she was ready to start another fight with you so soon after the last one. 

“The team isn’t leaving for Lagos for another week,” she assured you, hoping to swing the conversation toward safer pastures once more. It did not work. 

“You’re always so busy getting ready that it’ll be like you’re already gone.” Pink in the cheeks, you gave yourself an embarrassed little shake. “I just don’t like sharing you so much.” 

She did not return your sheepish smile. Said expression faded into one of apprehension. While each of you watched the other from opposite ends of the table, the dessert arrived. You picked up a spoon. Natasha followed suit, but she knew as she took a small bite that the niceties of the evening had drawn to a premature end. 

“Wouldn’t it be easier,” she said carefully, “if you weren’t right there to see it all?” 

A brightness came immediately into your eyes. The color in your face changed from pleased to panicked. Still your voice remained calm as you answered, “Are you telling me to move out?” 

It pained her more to answer honestly than you would ever know. “Yes.” 

“Have I been getting in the way?” 

“No.” 

“Do you want to break up with me?” 

“Of course I don’t.” 

With your hand tight around the handle of your utensil, you looked Natasha right in the eye. “Then why?” 

She set her own spoon down with more care than necessary. The last thing either of you wanted was a repeat of your last argument. Unfortunately, that was the thing Natasha feared most likely to happen. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately that it might not be…safe.” 

“Safe?” you echoed, a slight hard edge in your voice. 

“I have a lot of blood on my hands, [Name],” she murmured. “I know you’re all right with that. I just don’t want that blood to wind up including yours.” 

“Does this have anything to do with that nightmare you had?” 

Natasha was a little surprised that you had put that together. “A little,” she admitted, “but Red Room isn’t the only organization I’ve left. There aren’t just a few people who’d like to get to you to get to me.” 

You said nothing. 

“I love you too much to let that happen. If it did, I don’t know what I would do. It shouldn’t be too hard to set up a safe house for you. You could stay there, and I could vis—” 

“Natasha.” She fell silent. Never before had she seen you look so angry. Tears flashed in the corners of your eyes; the muscles at the corners of your mouth were tensed. For a minute or two, you only worked to contain yourself. Then, after a deep, tremulous breath, you spoke: 

“I’m a big girl. I think it’s about time _I_ decided where I go and who I’m with. Don’t you?” 

This answer, too, was difficult to give. “Okay.” 

At last your stony gaze slid away from her face. She caught a glimpse of the tip of your tongue as you wet your painted lips. Suddenly the room felt very cold, almost as cold as her dormitory in Russia. 

“I know the dangers,” you told her. “I’ve known them since you asked me out. I didn’t care then, and I don’t care now.” 

“But—” 

“Let me finish. As long as anyone thinks you care about me, that danger will be there. I could leave, but then I’d be alone. Trevor’s not an attack dog.” 

“We could—” 

“Either you break up with me,” you crossed your arms over your chest, “or…” 

A hush stretched between you. Natasha held her tongue, waiting for you to finish your ultimatum. It seemed, however, that this was her one and only window. 

“Or what?” she asked at last. 

“Or I’m staying,” you said. “Because I don’t want to be without you.” 

A wave of relief so strong it made her dizzy washed over her. It was not the resolution she had planned for, or even one she’d considered possible. And yet, it was the best she could have dreamed of. She closed her eyes for a moment before picking up her spoon again and offering you a small smile. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the best girlfriend ever?” 

You shoved a huge bite of the dessert into your mouth, swallowed, and beamed. “No. Because _you’re_ the best girlfriend ever.” 

“No, you are.” 

“No, _you_.” 

Bickering merrily over this point, you both finished your meal. As you waited outside for them to bring the car around, Natasha’s heart felt lighter than cotton candy. The night had gone much better than she had foreseen, and, busy or not, she planned to spend every night with you until the Avengers left for Nigeria.


	28. Give her the key to your heart.

The best laid plans of heroes and spies never remained so for long. Much sooner than Natasha had expected, she was suited up, packed, and ready to leave for Nigeria. A sort of electric buzz of anticipation fell upon Avengers HQ as the present team members scrambled to prepare. After so many failures, would the Avengers at last be one step ahead of Brock Rumlow? 

Such quandaries were a waste of time. Once she had made sure the jet was prepped for takeoff, Natasha resolved to use her remaining time for something a little more productive. It wasn’t often she had the opportunity to say goodbye to you before a mission, so she made a beeline for the front desk. You must have heard her coming, because you looked up before she’d made it completely into the room. 

“You’re leaving early,” you observed. 

“What tipped you off?” 

“You don’t typically come to see me with so many guns. Is it an emergency?” 

Natasha shook her head. “Rhodey called. He’s got intel that Rumlow’s already been spotted in Lagos. Steve wants to make sure we head him off.” 

“I know this is important, Tasha. Don’t let me keep you.” 

“I won’t. I wanted to give you this first.” From behind her back, she withdrew a wide, flat black box, then held it out to you. As you took it from her, you eyed Natasha a little suspiciously. She only smiled back, and gestured at the package. “Well? Are you going to open it?” 

“I don’t have anything to give you in exchange,” you said. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

You did not look entirely convinced. Still, you slid your fingernails into the box’s seam and pulled it open. “Oh!” The soft exclamation brightened Natasha’s smile; the room’s light caught the silver chain as you lifted the necklace inside the box into the air. 

“I have a necklace that reminds me of Clint,” she explained, though you hadn’t asked. “So I _thought_ , since I love you as well, you and I should do something similar.” 

“The charm is a key.” 

“Right. The key to my heart.” 

You pressed your lips together, and for nearly an entire minute said nothing at all. Natasha wondered what she could have done to make you cry. Had you decided you’d prefer to break up and stay safe after all? Then you cracked and let out a laugh. 

“You’re such a sap!” you said. 

Natasha chuckled herself. “Don’t blame me. I learned it from you.” 

From somewhere deep inside the building came a short, air horn-like burst: the signal that it was time to leave. She shot you an apologetic grimace. “Gotta go,” she said, stepping back to do so. In a flash, you were out of your chair, placing a hand behind her neck, and pulling her in for a long kiss. 

“Stay safe out there,” you said when you were done. “I want you home in one piece.” 

“I’ll do my best,” she promised. 

The noise came again. Gently, she extricated herself from your grasp, then waved and hurried away. Natasha allowed herself one look back before ducking into the hangar bay. She was glad she did, because you were grinning as you hooked her necklace into place.


	29. Watch her walk home, so she stays safe.

Natasha kept her word. She returned to HQ fully intact to your white face waiting for her just outside the hangar. She was not sure she could apply “intact” to the rest of the team, however. News travelled fast, and they did not have someone like you to return to. 

Sam, as usual, was resilient enough to move on, and nothing ever seemed to faze Vision. Steve, on the other hand, had spent much of the time since coming home watching the news coverage of the tragedy. Wanda had holed herself up in her room. Even Rhodey had little to say or do, and he hadn’t even been there when the shit hit the fan. 

Natasha found the cloud of gloom surrounding the facility exceedingly tiring. It wasn’t like the Avengers had ever had a perfect track record, but in the past, if an innocent got hurt, it was because that was unavoidable. This time things felt different—a calm before a storm—and after receiving word from Tony that he’d be dropping by that afternoon, she knew the storm must have been headed their way. Until it broke, there was nothing more for her to do. 

In the building’s oppressive silence, you both sat together in what was typically the briefing room. The sound of the news Steve kept watching could not reach her there. No one else was at the large table. You sat in her lap with your chin resting on Natasha’s shoulder while she ran her fingers absently through your hair. Nothing seemed quite so soothing as having you close. She should have known it couldn’t last. 

“Hey. Pssst. Love birds.” 

Both you and Natasha shifted to see Tony standing at the distant head of the conference table. He stood as straight as a police baton, and the expression on his face was frostier than she had ever seen it—including the time he’d found out that Natalie Rushman was not, in the strictest of terms, a real person. 

“You’re early,” she observed, but Tony held up a hand to quiet her. Before she could point out the rudeness of such a gesture, he said: 

“You might want to move your princess to another castle.” 

You were the one that frowned then, as you twisted toward him to say, “I’ve got clearance to—” 

“Mr. Stark!” a man barked, causing you to jump. Natasha could not blame you when she saw who was doing the barking. A tall man marched into the room. He was flanked by a couple of nondescript suits. “Who are you talking to in here?” the man asked before he turned in the direction of you and Natasha. She recognized him at once from a certain file as General “Thunderbolt” Ross. Natasha and Ross exchanged appraising looks. 

“Agent Romanoff,” he said coolly. She inclined her head. “And who the hell is this supposed to be?” 

Natasha kept her mouth shut, returning his glare with a cold curiosity of her own. Shy you were, but not incapable of answering questions yourself. Sure enough, though your face had gone paler than its usual tone, you turned in her lap, sat up straight, and looked Bruce’s old boss right in the eye. 

“I’m [F Name] [L Name], former SHIELD agent,” you said, then added, “sir.” Your politeness didn’t get you very far. Apparently under the impression Natasha wasn’t worth talking to either, Ross turned toward the door, where Steve and Wanda now stood. 

“You mean to tell me you’ve got a _civilian_ lounging around your meeting room?” he demanded. 

“She has clearance,” Natasha said frostily. Steve’s eyes flicked toward her, but he didn’t chide her. He didn’t seem to like Ross much either. 

“[Name] is allowed in here with supervision. She’s got supervision,” said Steve. 

Ross shook his head, then pointed at your chest. “Out. Now. I’ve got information of a sensitive nature to discuss, and I’m not spouting it out in front of your team pet.” 

Ears burning an impressive color, you hopped out of Natasha’s lap. She met Ross’ gaze head on as she got up to follow. 

“I need you here, Romanoff,” he said. Her hand tightened around your shoulder as the two of you headed for the door. Before she could say what she wanted to, Tony caught her eye and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of the head. Ross wasn’t here for a social visit. Natasha nodded just as subtly back. Better not to rock the boat with you there. 

“I’m walking [Name] back to her quarters, sir,” she said. “I thought you’d appreciate the extra security ensuring she’s where she’s supposed to be.” 

That time, Ross didn’t argue. He allowed you and Natasha to slip into the eerily quiet hall. The tone of the meeting had not escaped you. You gave her a kiss before she left you all alone. It didn’t entirely clear her conscience of having spoken as though you were not there, but one thing did: she knew that if General Ross _ever_ spoke to or about you like that again, Tony be damned, she would _not_ hold back.


	30. Be honest with her.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving again already.” 

Only a day after the Avengers’ meeting with Secretary of State Ross, Natasha stood in her room and stared into the open suitcase sitting on the bed. Very little had made it into that suitcase yet. She kept getting too lost in her own thoughts to focus on packing for Vienna. Your voice did manage to crack through her preoccupation, at least, and she looked up to find you. 

Doing so was not difficult. You sat in the chair by the window; your fingers worked into the fur of the little dog in your lap. Relieved by an excuse to quiet her mind, Natasha smiled and stepped around the bed and over to you. 

“It’s an occupational hazard,” she said as she sank onto the chair’s arm. Your already serious expression twisted further into a grimace. 

“This isn’t a mission, Nat.” 

“It’s as good as.” 

“Signing paperwork,” you muttered into Trevor’s furry head. 

“It has to get done.” 

“Why? It doesn’t sound like _you_!” 

A tense silence followed your declaration. Disturbed, Trevor hopped out of your lap, headed out the open door, and turned down the hall toward Vision’s bedroom. You ducked your head after a minute or so, unable to match her gaze any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” you said as you drew your knees to your chest. “It’s just that—after INSIGHT—you made that big speech about how the world needs you.” 

It took Natasha a little while to work out how to respond to that. When she did, she slid to the floor to kneel in front of you. One hand smoothed the top of your knee until you could bring yourself to look at her again. 

“I did say that,” she said. “I still believe it. But I’ve done a lot of growing since then, and now I know the world isn’t the only thing that needs me.” 

She didn’t want to say that you needed her, not outright. You didn’t, really. If something happened to Natasha, you could go on. Maybe what she meant was not quite that kind of need, but it was still important. The look in your eyes told her that you got the gist. 

“I don’t want you to sign the Accords just because of me,” you said. 

“I’m not. Really,” she added defensively. “I need you. And if this keeps you—not just you, but people like Pepper, people all of us love—safer, then I have to do it. How things are isn’t working. I want to protect you better, and everyone like you that might get hurt the crossfire.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “You _really_ think this is the right thing to do?” 

“It’s not a perfect solution,” she said, “but I think it’s our best option for the time being. It would be worse if we didn’t do it and the team got dissolved.” 

Taking this in, you nodded slowly and let yourself unwind. “And no one wants to use this to hurt you?” you asked. 

“I’m on the right side of the law this time around. There’s nothing they can do to me with the Accords as they are.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’ve got your permission?” 

Her teasing smile was met with an eye roll. “You don’t need it. Just promise me you’ll stay safe.” 

Natasha stood to walk back to her suitcase. “Nothing to worry about. I’m stopping in London to check on Steven, then onto to Vienna with or without him. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

How was it that, when she did her best to be honest, she told more lies than ever before?


	31. Have a song that reminds you of her.

Stupid! How could Steve have been so _stupid_? Of course Natasha had wanted him to swallow his pride and sign the damn papers. He was a good man, a good soldier, and—most importantly—one of her closest friends. She had never really _expected_ him to change his mind, really, but to do what he’d done, run off half-cocked after his old friend, with not a thought about how that might look for the rest of them? Surely Steve Rogers could not be _that_ dense! 

But he was, and now Natasha’s promise to you was broken. She and Tony were on damage control. He had a swiftly approaching flight to Queens to catch, and she a meeting with the understandably angry delegation from Wakanda. Nothing was going right. For someone who had so briefly felt safe and confident that morning, she felt that confidence crumbling around her as she and Tony tried to work out some semblance of plan. Progress was not helped by the latter’s propensity for brainstorming music. 

“Could you please,” she asked after twenty minutes of struggling along in such fashion, “turn that off?” 

He looked at her in some surprise. Even through her extreme aggravation, she knew Tony had been trying to be nice about it. It wasn’t his usual blast of rock music that accompanied Iron Man wherever he went. Unfortunately, the orchestral music that had taken its place only served to twist Natasha’s insides into knots. It was the same music she had played during her time undercover as a violinist—the very same song she had played for you while she practiced. 

“Too loud?” Tony asked. 

She hesitated, then shook her head and shrugged. “I just…miss [Name] right now.” 

Tony regarded her in silence for long enough that Natasha almost blushed. She was supposed to be tougher than this, not some lovesick teenager. He was kind enough not to point that out. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. 

“When we’ve got this all settled, she’ll be safer than ever. You might not have to leave her ever again.” 

Natasha forced a smile. Tony returned one that must have cost him even more after his breakup with Pepper. He murmured something to FRIDAY that switched playlists as he went back to the plans, and Natasha threw herself even further into her work, as though his words had helped her. But if what he said was true, why did she feel so sick inside, and why did she have the sneaking suspicion that you would be disappointed she had sided against Steve and his friend?


	32. Kiss her on the forehead.

Natasha’s footsteps echoed against the cold walls of the hallways of Avengers HQ. Head down, hands shoved in the pockets of her jacket, she forced herself to keep moving at a pace that made it look like getting caught was the farthest thing from her mind. It was not. Her worst fear had come true: most of her friends—most of her _family_ —were gone. Their absence rang loudly in the empty base. Her ears had to strain to hear any sounds of pursuit. 

None came, but she was not about to count her lucky stars just yet. Tony and Vision were busy with Rhodey in the medical wing. Ross’ squad would already be on its way. There was no time to count anything, nor to explain why counting must be done, which was why she didn’t waste what time she did have on feeling guilty before she knocked on the door to her bedroom. 

For what felt like several eternities, nothing stirred behind that door. The ringing in Natasha’s ears grew into a roar. Ross knew you were there. Could he have beaten her to you? If he hurt so much as a single hair on your head— 

A soft snick of the bolt unlocking stopped the roaring in its tracks. There you stood, hair mussed, pajamas wrinkled, one fist pressed to the corner of your eye. 

“Mmm…Natasha?” 

Your exhaustion evaporated in the moment she gave herself to stare. Maybe it was her pallor, maybe it was her outfit, Natasha didn’t know, but somehow you could tell something was wrong. 

“Get Trevor,” she said. “We have to go.” 

“But…” You looked down at your clothes. 

“I’ll get you more later. Grab the dog. Now.” 

That was it. The moment balanced on the edge of a knife. Already Natasha’s instincts screamed at her to run, to save herself, that the fallout for you would not be so terrible as the one facing her. In a minute, she would have to listen, whether you were ready or not. She did not _want_ to leave you behind, but if that was what you chose, so be it. 

“Just ten seconds,” you told her. As you made to turn, Natasha grabbed your wrist to pull you back. You gave her a questioning look. Her mouth opened as if to let loose an apology. None came. Instead, she pressed a swift kiss to your forehead before she stepped away. 

“You’ve got five,” she whispered. 

Without another word, you disappeared back into the room to retrieve your dog. Natasha let out a breath she had not realized she’d been holding. Things _sucked_...but at least that time you would get through the sucky part together.


	33. Dance together like idiots.

The keys in Natasha’s hand jangled against each other as she locked the safe house door behind her. Despite the noise being partially muffled by her palm, it sounded painfully loud in the otherwise motionless dwelling. Trevor, asleep in his new bed next to the loveseat, didn’t even bother to look at her. Some help _he’d_ be in a pinch. 

“I’m home,” she announced to the front room. Stepping toward the fireplace caused her reusable grocery bags to rustle at her sides. “[Name]?” 

The woman on the couch hardly looked like you anymore: different clothes, different outlook, different hair. Yours at least suited you more than Natasha’s platinum blonde locks did her…although that didn’t change how bad she felt upon seeing you staring into the fireplace like you were. No television, no internet, no phone. She knew it was not an easy way to live. 

“[Name]?” she said again. That time you blinked, shook yourself out of your trance, and looked up at her. 

“Hi.” You pulled your legs up to give her room on the only piece of furniture. “When did you get back?” 

“Just now. I brought food.” 

“Soup?” 

“What else?” 

Lolling your head back, you groaned theatrically. “Never thought I’d get tired of soup. Or snow. Or mountains.” 

Outside the window by the door, snow was indeed falling in thick, feathery flakes that almost reminded Natasha of her first home. Soon, the snow would cover the door again, leaving the two of you ensconced in a technological desert once more. She sighed as she settled next to you, then placed her bags on the floor and worked her fingers into your hair. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” you said. “You did the right thing.” 

“Did I?” she asked, and laid down with her head in your lap. “It doesn’t feel like it.” 

“He deserved better. They all did.” 

She allowed her eyes to absorb your image from below. Her familiar [Name] was still in there, underneath the disguise. One day, she’d be allowed to be herself again. If only the disguise hadn’t been necessary at all, perhaps both of you would have felt a little less homesick. 

“What _can_ I apologize for?” Natasha asked. “Signing the damn papers to begin with? Stranding you here? There’s got to be something.” 

Your lips pursed. You shook your head. “I’m with you, Nat, and Trevor. That’s all I need. I’m just…” 

You didn’t need to finish. Natasha did that for you in her own head. _Lonely. Bored. Afraid._ She had to leave every so often to pick up supplies, which left you alone and undefended. Even when she _was_ there, there were only so many times one could read the stash of steamy romance novels Maria had left at this location before the reality of the situation became too real to ignore. Natasha watched you for a few minutes more before she got up to put the groceries away. 

“I’ve got good news, then,” she said as she opened a cabinet. 

Your face peeked over the top of the couch, expression hopeful despite everything. “What’s that?” 

“We’re going to go meet the others. Steve, Sam, those guys,” she added when you went pale. “In Wakanda.” 

“Wakanda?” you echoed. 

“That’s right. Steve and T’Challa have it all worked out. A stealth jet will be here in two weeks to pick us up. We’ll be staying at a place there, so you’ll have plenty to eat and do, and new people to see.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha saw your eyes narrow slowly while she stacked the canned fruit in the cupboard. 

“What’s the catch?” you asked. 

She closed her eyes. For her, it was hardly a catch, but for you…well, she’d always been Black Widow in some capacity. You knew that. By then, she knew you _understood_ it, too. So she was not afraid when she turned to answer: “I’ll be working again. Not loads, but Steve’s got an underground team going. So I’d be going into danger again, and sometimes you and Trevor…” 

“We’d be without you,” you finished for her. 

“Yes.” 

“So I’ll be sharing you again.” 

“Looks like it.” 

A few quiet seconds passed while you took that in. After you did, you rose from the couch, pressed the button on the stereo (which had the only CD between you already inside), and stepped over to her to take her hand. 

“What are you doing?” she asked when you pulled her to you and started to sway. You smiled against her neck. 

“Enjoying the last dance I’ll get to have with you all to myself,” you answered. "Before anyone else besides Clint can see how bad I am at it and I embarrass you." 

"You could never embarrass me," Natasha said, but still she allowed you to pull her into a clumsy dance. Sharing you would be hard for her, too, and yet it seemed doable then, with hope on the horizon.


	34. Stay together. Let love last.

Bright, sunny, warm Wakanda could not have been any more different from the mountainside safe house you and Natasha had vacated. Gone were the days of cold and soup and isolation. True, Natasha had to work again. Steve called her up frequently for one thing or another. You, however, were happy. Company, sunlight, and a varied diet had done wonders for you, and on top of all that, any minute Natasha was not with the Secret Avengers, she could spend safely with you. 

“This is the most beautiful view I’ve seen in my entire life,” you said one evening three months after arriving. You and Natasha stood on a balcony after dinner, watching the sunset over the magnificent panther rock formation outside. Well, _you_ were watching the sunset. As usual, Natasha was watching _you_. “I never imagined I’d see anything like it.” 

“Not even when I asked you out?” Natasha teased. 

You shot her a smile. “Not even when you asked me out.” With a contented sigh, you folded your arms on the railing. “I could watch this forever.” 

“It looks like you’ve been trying to.” Natasha rested her cheek on a hand. “You got so much darker while I was away.” 

“That’s not from watching sunsets!” you said, shoving her playfully. “You know Okoye has been training me a little.” 

That was true. Once T’Challa had introduced you to the head of his army, Okoye had taken a shine to you—while declaring you were the scrawniest “agent” she’d ever come across. What surprised Natasha was that you’d stuck with Okoye’s Spartan system. In fact, you enjoyed the work she put you through. According to T'Challa, Okoye had that sort of effect on people. 

“Hard not to be a little jealous of you spending so much time with another woman,” said Natasha. She meant it in jest—Okoye was married—and was rewarded by your immediately becoming flustered. 

“It’s not like that!” You waved your hands frantically in front of you. “I swear. We’re just—” 

Natasha laughed and wrapped one arm around your waist. “I know. Are you getting any good?” 

You relaxed at once, looking a little proud. “Better! Okoye says there might be an iota of hope for me after all. The women taught me this cool move yesterday. You want to see?” 

“Later,” Natasha said, though you’d already drawn away from her to get into position. “I need to ask you something first.” 

Confusion crossed your face, but you straightened right back up. “Go ahead.” 

Her heart skipped a beat. No, she was not scared. Natasha knew for once that what she was about to do was exactly what she needed to do. As her hand slipped into her back pocket, she got down on one knee. 

Your expression froze. 

“[F Name] [L Name],” Natasha opened the velvet box in her hands, “will you marry me?” 

With eyes the size of saucers, you stared at the ring, then at her, then at the ring again, then her face at last. 

“Are you,” your voice was hoarse, “sure?” 

“I’ve never been more sure. I got the ring when I was off with Sam last week. There’s no one else I want to be with for the rest of my life, however long that turns out to be.” 

Tears glistened in your eyes. You took a ragged breath, but still seemed unable to speak. Natasha went on: 

“I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but it’s legal in Wakanda. You’d want your family there for the ceremony, I know. When we can go back to the States, we’ll have another one. But I don’t want to wait until then to make you my wife. So, will you marry me?” 

For a few seconds more, all you did was mouth soundlessly. Then you rushed at her, threw your arms around her neck, and kissed Natasha right on the lips. Your tongue slipped between them; your fingers grasped at her hair. 

“Should I take that as a yes?” Natasha asked when you finally backed off for air. 

Wet-faced, you beamed at her, and let out a combination of a sob and a laugh. “Yes." 

She pulled you back in for another long kiss. The sky turned dark in earnest around you, and the stars came out one by one. When the two of you decided to turn in for the night, Natasha had to agree: as unexpected as it might have been, this view of her life was the most beautiful she had ever seen. 

**THE END**


End file.
